


Here, Where We Intersect

by soulhollow



Category: Dragonlance - Margaret Weis & Tracy Hickman
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Asthma, Dubious Consent, F/M, Fix-It, Friends to Lovers, Gen, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Non-Binary Tasslehoff Burrfoot, Original Character(s), Past Relationship(s), Power Imbalance, Self-Medication, Slice of Life, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-13
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-01-16 20:36:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 40,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12350226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soulhollow/pseuds/soulhollow
Summary: It was charming. Even more importantly, the room fell within the price-range her parents had deemed acceptable. Besides, she was tired. She’d viewed (and discarded) a lot of ads over the past two weeks. From being too expensive to being too far from campus, she had yet to lock something down. The current ad was notated with ‘New!’, having just gone up the night before and, though suspicious of its newness, she didn't mind the coincidence of it.Alternate universe, set in modern-day Ithaca, New York. Crysania, a newly-accepted graduate student of Cornell University, rents a room from Raistlin Majere. (*Chapter 11 contains 'Mature' themes, more detailed warnings in Author's Note.)





	1. Room available in furnished 3-bedroom home

Hello, prospective housing-shopper,

I have a room for rent, fully furnished and spacious. My home is conveniently located within easy walking distance of Cornell, buses, Ithaca College, the Commons, the falls, etc. There are 3 bedrooms ( _technically_ 4 but the fourth contains a piano left by the prior owners), 2 full bathrooms, (yours, essentially private due to its location adjacent to your bedroom on the second floor) with laundry access on the first floor. The driveway is short, but if you have an average-sized passenger car it’ll suit the need if you’d like the space. We’ll need to coordinate schedules, as my car occupies the garage. Specifically, if I have to get out, it’s imperative that you’re willing to move your car, or that we arrange a key-swap arrangement so I can move yours, get mine, and put yours back.

On-street parking is also available but not entirely advisable due to winter conditions and plowing schedules typical for the area. The neighbors are prone to thieving spots even if you use the same one frequently.

My current roommate keeps his bicycle in the garage during inclement weather but has been known to bring it into the den for repairs.

Assuming the above sounds feasible thus far, I am a 28 year old male, currently working full-time (days, remotely and thus from home) and TA’ing at Cornell (nights) (please don’t ask me how this works, I’m occupying a highly caffeinated state of denial). My roommate occupies the second downstairs bedroom, and also attends Cornell (with part-time night shifts in town). He’s a transfer student from Russia, pursuing his master’s, and we occasionally converse in Russian. Both of us prefer to maintain a friendly, relaxed, and _clean_ environment. I tend to consider myself a tolerant and open-minded person but I don't respect the beliefs of people who think their dishes will magically get cleaner the longer they've been left in the sink.

That said, you’re welcome to use everything in the kitchen to prepare meals, as well as the fridge for storing your items; our home is your home. If you’re concerned about generics, or if we purchase similar items, sharpie yours for differentiation. My roommate likes cooking, and would probably enjoy collaborating for meal preparation occasionally. Due to my schedule, I might cook at strange hours. Equally due to my schedule, I’ve designed a home automation system (to which you’ll be provided a keychain with a chip), to the end goal of a specific unobtrusive chime for verified persons entering and leaving, as well as lights coming on when aforementioned persons approach and enter the front and back doors.

A few, far more specific items:

  1. Rent is due within the first seven days of each month. (If a problem should arise, please exercise good communication and keep me apprised of the situation. I’m lenient, within reason.) Utilities are included in the rent, for the sake of keeping things simple.
  2. Although I factored this in the terms of the listing, smoking is _not permitted_. (I am, unfortunately, asthmatic. Cigarettes, pot, various forms of incense and aerosol sprays are all out. I’m open to testing whether or not some might be all right--specifically incense or scented sprays--but it’s probably safe to assume ‘none of the above.’)
  3. When cooking, don’t use sesame oil. Other oils (olive, etc) are fine, but please use the overhead vent when frying items at the stove.
  4. Guests are fine, but I’d appreciate forewarning. Tell me, text me, whatever works. Overnight guests are also fine, so long as they abide all of the same household courtesies. I am not open to a guest or visitor becoming a long-term resident.
  5. I’d prefer residents to abstain from using bleach in the washer as accidents have occurred in the past.
  6. I’ll tentatively allow a pet, but I’d prefer to meet said pet beforehand (asthma, etc). If the pet occupies a tank, and isn’t fish, that’s probably fine (please include details in your reply).
  7. Lease terms are flexible; I’m open to discussion regarding your needs insofar as the length of your stay. As I own the home, I won’t arbitrarily jack the price due to random market value increases. Month-by-month or locking into a set number of months are all potentially on the table.
  8. If I failed to make this clear in the above, I’m an introvert and my present roommate is equally quiet and courteous. If you enjoy listening to incredibly loud music late into the night, or playing video games at a sound level that creates a sense of ‘total immersion’, or want to have weekend parties… this won’t be the rent arrangement for you.
  9. I retain the right to pursue eviction if you smoke cigarettes within my home. This is a medical concern; I won’t be lenient in this area. Visitors and guests are equally banned from smoking within the house.
  10. I've a few instruments in the largely-unused second room on the second floor. I might, occasionally, play them--but not at obnoxious hours--and if you're home and happen to need quiet for studying, let me know (I'll stop). I tend to leave this hobby for times when I'm the only one at home, however.
  11. Email me if the above hasn’t scared you off entirely, I suppose!



 

After scrolling through the body of the listing, Crysania rested her chin on her palm. The pictures were nice; everything about the house looked comfortable and clean. She wasn’t a smoker and didn’t appreciate breathing second-hand smoke, so a home where it was strictly against the rules seemed promising. Her mother had Yorkies, but they were more her mother's dogs than hers. The address placed it within walking distance of Cornell, as stated by the homeowner.

Two male housemates though.

Frowning, she clicked through the pictures again. It was a completely furnished upstairs space with two windows, good lighting and curtains for privacy. A wooden bed frame complete with soft looking mattress and bedding took up the majority of the image, but she also spotted a desk, full-length mirror and the edges of closet doors. The full bathroom looked original to the house, including the old-fashioned clawfoot tub, but the fuzzy mats on the tile and pretty stained glass window made it comfortable. The kitchen had an open design, with a circular dining table adjacent. Another photo showed a den with an L-shape sofa and tv. The home was older, matching the style of the surrounding neighborhood. Mature trees occupied the lot.

It was charming. Even more importantly, the room fell within the price-range her parents had deemed acceptable. Besides, she was tired. She’d viewed (and discarded) a lot of ads over the past two weeks. From being too expensive to being too far from campus, she had yet to lock something down. The current ad was notated with ‘New!’, having just gone up the night before and, though suspicious of its newness, she didn't mind the coincidence of it.

The homeowner was either a control freak, or had gone through prior arrangements turning sour.

“Only one way to find out,” she murmured, clicking _reply_.

Several hours later, whilst standing in the shower with shampoo in her hair, Crysania stopped--fingers freezing in working the suds--completely struck by a thought.

What kind of twenty-eight year old college student _owned their own home?_


	2. A silent stairway

“So what do you think? Third time’s the charm?” Crysania’s father asked from the driver’s seat. He glanced at the rearview mirror, briefly catching her gaze before returning his attention to the road.

They’d had a rough day, starting with Cornell’s registration office. In fact, they weren’t finished yet. It would take a second trip on another day before Crysania could make her course selections for the fall semester as paperwork apparently took weeks to process. After they’d accomplished as much as they could at the university, they’d checked two of the three housing options she’d arranged to view. Horrified by the reality of the first, photos having failed to accurately provide the overpowering smell of cat pee and stale cigarettes, she promptly scribbled the address into obscurity. Unnerved by the people at the second, she’d fled with her parents as quickly as common courtesy would allow.

And in approximately four minutes, they’d be arriving at the third and hopefully final home tour of the day.

“I wonder if he’s truly a control freak...” she murmured, unfolding her printed copy of the ad even though she’d read it at least ten times since they’d set out that morning.

“Arriving at destination, on the right!” Chirped her mother’s navigation console.

Crysania looked up as the house came into view.

“Pretty neighborhood,” her mother noted, thoughtfully.

Her father glanced around for a likely place to park. Cars lined both sides of the residential street. “Alright, you two hop out here. I’ll park further down.”

“Okay daddy,” Crysania replied, freeing her buckle. Pocketing her phone, she pushed her door open and stretched her legs out. Her mother followed suit, making sure to adjust her purse. Once on the sidewalk, mother and daughter turned in a slow circle to take in the full view of the block.

“Such beautiful trees, Crissy.”

A warm late-summer breeze rustled through the leaves and tousled their hair. Sunlight dappled over the front of the house.

“Nice place,” remarked her father, joining them on the sidewalk a few moments later.

Despite her reservations, Crysania felt her spirits starting to lift.

Together, the three crossed the driveway and headed up the front path. Climbing the steps ahead of her parents, Crysania--once squarely on the doormat beneath the covered entryway--pressed the old-fashioned doorbell. A tinkling chime sounded from somewhere within the house. After a moment of quiet, she heard the faint sound of footsteps approaching. Feeling apprehensive, she started at the metallic scrape of a deadbolt. With the smooth rotation of a secondary lock, the door opened and Crysania was finally face to face with the author of the listing. 

He was tall, probably taller than she was (but she wouldn't know for certain until they were on even footing), with blue eyes and light brown hair that reached his shoulders. It was wavy, though not quite curly. Despite the warmth of the day, he was dressed in a collared shirt, loose sweater, and jeans. A gray lanyard embossed with Cornell dangled at least a dozen USB thumb drives against his chest. He pushed a few strands of hair behind an ear as he looked them over. “Hello! You must be Crysania. Come in, oh, and watch your step on the landing.” Moving back, he drew the door fully aside.

As they assembled in the foyer, Crysania took in what she could see of the house. The listing hadn’t included a picture from this particular spot. While her eyes adjusted from being outdoors, she noticed a low bench that appeared to double as a chest. Matching pairs of shoes rested along the wall on either side. A mounted row of coat hooks adorned the wall opposite. The stairs was directly ahead, wooden steps covered by a carpet runner. Looking back, Crysania saw their host was wearing socks. "Oh, should we take our shoes off?"

Raistlin, having closed the door, turned back. "No, that's all right. It's not raining or snowing. I’m glad you could come; I’ve only had one other person show up. I’m Raistlin, though of course you’ve likely… gathered as much, from conversing with me over email.”

“I did, yes,” Crysania replied. “It’s nice to put a face to the name, though. These are my parents, Alex and Denise.”

Crysania’s father smiled warmly and held a hand out to Raistlin, who took it and smiled in return. After they shook, Crysania’s mother did the same.

“The room’s just upstairs, but if you’d like to view the rest of the house we can start down here.”

Crysania’s parents both looked at her expectantly.

“Oh,” she huffed, exasperated yet amused. “I’d love to see the room, if that’s all right?”

“Certainly,” Raistlin replied with a slight nod. “Let’s go up.”

As they made their way to the stairs, Crysania paused to glance into the kitchen. Brighter than the foyer, it was clean (just as in the photos), with plenty of counterspace for cooking. Pulling her eyes away, she caught up with her parents at the base of the stairs. Raistlin, having stopped, moved to the side to allow Crysania and her parents to go first. As she climbed, Crysania noticed the steps didn’t creak. In fact, the only sounds produced were from their shoes making contact. “Your stairs are so quiet,” she said, slowing to move around on one in the middle of the stairwell. 

“Oh, yes, my brother did that. He enjoys renovating,” Raistlin replied, amusement evident. “They were loud before. If someone went up or down at night it’d wake everyone in the house.”

“Do you know how he did it?” Crysania’s father asked, testing the stair he occupied.

“I haven’t the faintest idea, actually. I was away. He told me he’d wanted to work on them for several months but needed to do it on a weekend when I wasn’t around. Presumably, to open all the windows and allow for something to dry.”

“How do you think he’d feel about a commission?” Crysania’s father asked, clearly impressed.

“Absolutely thrilled, I expect,” Raistlin replied as the four of them continued to make their way up to the landing. “I’d be happy to get you in touch with him, though you’ll have to forgive his busy schedule. He’s on call as a first responder, a fireman specifically.”

“Oh I see. Tough work, that. Does he enjoy it?”

“He does,” Raistlin answered as they gathered at the top of the stairs. “More when things turn out alright in the end, of course.”

“I can’t imagine,” Crysania’s mother replied, looking between Raistlin and Crysania’s father. “That kind of job must be heartbreaking, not to mention frightening.”

Having spotted the room, its door ajar, Crysania stepped around her mother to get a better look. Sunlight poured in from the windows. “It’s beautiful,” she said, paused in the doorway.

“Well go on in, take a look at it,” her father encouraged from behind her.

“Is that all right?” Crysania asked, turning on her heel to look at Raistlin.

“Yes, absolutely,” he replied, prior thoughtful expression clearing.

Casting him a quick smile, she turned back to the room and crossed the threshold. The carpet was soft beneath her shoes. Braided rugs were scattered here and there. Immediately self-conscious about her footwear, she put a hand to the doorframe to steady herself while using her ankles to wiggle out of her sneakers. Leaving them on the floor, she continued into the room.

“What kind of internet do you have?” she asked, turning back to Raistlin.

“We didn’t get this far with the last two viewings,” interjected her father, leaning toward Raistlin conspiratorially. Raistlin, for his part, glanced back to Crysania’s father with a quirked smile before replying.

“Cable and wireless. There’s a jack beneath the desk, and the wifi reaches the entire house.”   

A miracle in an older home. With a measure of disbelief, Crysania crouched to glance under the desk and confirm the news.

“My brother fished a line through the wall for his girlfriend, when they were staying. She needed reliable internet for her work, just as I do, but she needed it up here instead of solely on the first floor.”

Straightening, Crysania broke into a wide smile. “I love everything so far. This room is perfect; I’ll have no problems studying and doing my homework up here.”

Looking to Raistlin, she realized--quite suddenly--that he was smiling, and that this time, it reached his eyes.

“In your listing, you said there was a second room?” Crysania’s mother inquired, returning to the doorway of the bedroom.

“Oh! Yes, there is,” he replied, glancing at her. “I haven’t done much with it because, well… there’s a piano in there. You’re welcome to come see it, if you’d like.”

Finding that she was interested, Crysania pushed her feet back into her sneakers and followed her mother, Raistlin, and her father out of the bedroom.

“Here’s the bathroom, by the way,” Raistlin said with a gesture. “As it’s up here, and I rarely need to come up, it’s essentially all yours.”

Following his gesture, Crysania stepped into the bathroom. Colorful light danced over the tiled floor from the stained glass window she’d seen in the pictures from the listing. Everything was immaculate and somehow even prettier in person.

“My brother renovated nearly everything up here. He’s since moved out with his girlfriend, but this shower, the counter, it’s all new. Everything except the tub, which we both liked. He picked out the rest. The upstairs is effectively newer than other portions of the house,” Raistlin explained from the landing.

“It’s beautiful. I like the window.”

“Oh, yes,  _ that _ was here when I closed on the house. My brother liked it too. There are more of them, actually. The kitchen has a larger one.”

Satisfied with the bathroom, Crysania returned to the landing. “What do you study at Cornell?”

“Oh, ah, my own demise I expect, but computer science. I’m currently a glorified lab rat, which is what these are about,” he replied, lifting the heap of thumb drives on his lanyard. “The stipend doesn’t cover the mortgage, of course, which is why I’m working full-time and doing teaching assistance at night.  _ Anyway _ ,” he said, shifting her attention with a sweep of his hand, “you said you wanted to see the music room?”

Crysania nodded, even as her mind roiled over the idea of working full time alongside a course load as a teaching assistant. It seemed impossible, but somehow he was doing it. All in all, it explained the speckling of gray hairs she’d noticed when they'd been standing in the sunlight of the bedroom. 

Just as they started to move away from the landing, the tinkling chime she’d heard earlier announced the arrival of someone at the front door.

“Oh excellent, you’ll have a chance to meet Dalamar. I wasn’t sure when he’d get in.” Leaning on the banister, Raistlin looked down to foyer while Dalamar made his way in. “We’re up here, but coming down shortly. I’m going to show them the piano.”

“Hello!” Dalamar replied, hanging a bicycle helmet from one of the coat hooks. Crysania watched as he dropped to the bench to unlace his boots. Long black hair, straight and glossy, fell over his shoulders and obscured his face. Using his ankle, he pushed his boots aside. Getting to his feet, he moved into the light. His clothes were dark, comprised of a band t-shirt she didn’t recognize and black jeans. Looking up, he gave a brief wave, then made his way into the kitchen.

Raistlin abandoned the banister to continue down the hallway and stopped at a door to his right. Turning the handle, he gave it a nudge inward.

“Oh.  _ Wow _ ,” Crysania breathed, transfixed.

Beside her, arms loosely folded, Raistlin sighed. “I said exactly the same thing.”

A grand concert piano occupied the center of the room. Sunlight from a narrow overhead skylight accentuated its mahogany gloss, beautiful scrollwork, and heavy bear paws. Polished brass highlighted an ornately carved stand where sheet music rested as well as the hinges to the lid and the pedals, leading it to look very well maintained despite its obvious age.

Coming up behind them, Crysania’s father gave a soft whistle. “How’d they get that in?”

Raistlin gave a soft snort. “I have no idea. In pieces, I expect, or crane-lifted before they built the roof.”

“Do you play?” Crysania’s mother asked, moving by Crysania to enter the room.

“Only… only as a hobby,” Raistlin replied, quiet voice going softer still. “Stage life didn’t agree with me, and piano wasn’t my original interest. Still, in finding myself the owner of an excellent one, it seemed a crime not to try and teach myself. It’s not so very different from stringed instruments, or so I found after a few weeks.”

“What instrument do you prefer to play?” Crysania asked, eyes sweeping over a variety of instruments and a shelf harboring several buckled cases.

“Cello, mainly. I couldn’t quite get the knack of the violin,” he answered, wincing slightly.

“It’s okay, I didn’t either,” Crysania replied in playful jab toward her mother.

“You didn’t apply yourself,” Denise replied from where she was examining the piano. “Oh my, this is a Chickering! Is it in tune?”

“Unless it’s managed to fall out within three months, I believe so. I think the grand horizontally-stringed tend to keep their tune far longer than the vertical.”

“Yes, that’s true,” Crysania’s mother replied, slipping into the bench. “May I?”

“Certainly,” Raistlin answered, following Crysania into the room.

Face alight, Crysania’s mother lifted the key cover before she started to play. A thoughtful yet uplifting melody filled the air. Crysania could almost hear the song's lyrics in her mother's rendition of the piece, slow and careful in places, almost a question, only to leap through passages with intensity her heart couldn't help but match. 

Finding herself standing beside Raistlin again, Crysania looked to him with a smile. “She used to be a concert pianist. That’s ‘One More Time, One More Chance’ a feature from a Studio Ghibli movie. I still wish I’d learned how to play, but I wasn’t very good at piano or the violin.”

“She’s wonderful,” he replied, closely tracking Denise’s progression through the piece. “Try not to feel too badly, though. We’re not all meant to be musicians.”

“That’s true. She didn’t believe me though. It brings her a lot of joy, and I think she wanted to share it with me, just so I could have it too.”

Raistlin, expression curiously blank, merely nodded in reply.

Once Crysania’s mother drew the piece to a close, Crysania’s father rested a hand to her shoulder. “That was gorgeous, Denise.”

Beaming, Crysania’s mother looked up at him before sliding off the bench. “I had to. It’s been so long since I’ve had the opportunity to play on a Chickering.”

Chuckling, Alex turned back to them. “Careful, you’ll end up with my daughter  _ and _ my wife at this rate.”

Embarrassed, Crysania felt heat rise to her cheeks. “Oh, daddy.”

“If I had the room…” Raistlin replied, unfolding his arms with a smile.

Realizing this was it, as if the room hadn't been more than enough proof, Crysania relaxed. “I like it here. If you think it’s all right, I’d love to stay. Now that we’ve met, you don’t…” trailing off, she quirked a smile in his direction.

“Seem so neurotic? A control freak?” he asked, lifting an eyebrow.

“Well...” Crysania hedged, finding herself pierced by his gaze. Despite her heart deciding to skip a beat, she returned his look evenly. 

“I know what I sounded like,” he replied with a breathy laugh. “It was intentional; you wouldn’t believe the sort of people I lived with during my undergrad. Or,” he paused. “Perhaps you  _ would _ . Where did you study, previously?”

“Stony Brook, but I lived at home. I didn’t go to any wild parties.”

“Lucky," he replied. "The parties found me. I’d come home to them. Sometimes, I’d wake up to them, as they’d gone on throughout the night.” Seemingly weary at the memory, he brushed at his face. “That said, I agree. I think this will work out.”

“Good, that settles one thing today,” Crysania’s father said with a smile, relief evident.

“If it’s all right, I’d love to see more of your home before we head out,” Crysania’s mother added, adjusting the strap of her bag.

“Perfectly all right. Let’s go back downstairs. I’ve failed to offer refreshments, and I’m sure-” he looked to Crysania again, “-you’ll want to meet Dalamar.”

“I would, yes,” she replied, smiling as they headed for the door.

After making their way back down, Raistlin took them into the kitchen and, with a gesture toward the circular dining table off to the side, invited them to sit. Crysania’s father took a seat and gladly accepted a glass of water, while Crysania’s mother asked if she might look at the den. Once everyone had water, or in Raistlin’s case what appeared to be a mug of cold tea with a trailing paper tag, Crysania’s father lifted a pen from his shirt pocket. “Just tell me where I ought to sign,” he said, giving Crysania a warm glance.

Embarrassed once more, she dropped her gaze to her feet.

“Ah, yes, leasing papers.” Raistlin lifted a folder from a rack on the kitchen island and flipped it open on his arm. Extracting a pair of glasses from a pocket on his sweater, he used his wrist to flick them open and push them on. “I wrote this up two weeks ago, so I'd just like to check that everything’s in accordance…” After leafing through the pages, he nodded. Returning to the table, he passed the folder to Crysania’s father. “Feel free to peruse, lest I missed something. You’ll want to sign as well, Crysania, as the tenant.”

Withdrawing his own glasses, although his were in a fold-case, Crysania’s father put them on and opened the folder to read the leasing documents. Crysania leaned over his shoulder, but soon realized the agreement was much like the listing, if more professional in tone. From what she could tell, nothing was different, save that there were spaces to write ‘N/A’ regarding the need for parking arrangements.

“All of this seems fine to me,” Crysania’s father affirmed, passing his pen to Crysania.

With a flutter of excitement, Crysania added her signature to the lines underscored by  _ tenant _ . Once she was done, her father added his signature as co-signer. Finished, he sat back and looked to Raistlin. “I left my checkbook at home, is cash all right for the deposit?”

“Ah, yes, that’s fine,” Raistlin replied.

“Daddy, now he’s going to wonder what kind of person goes around with that much on hand.”

“Crissy you never know. What if the car should break down?” her father replied, digging out his wallet.

“We have triple A, Alex,” Crysania’s mother said, joining them around the table.

“It’s better to be prepared, like right now,” he answered, counting out bills to place on the lease. “There.”

“Are you going to key her?” Dalamar inquired from the end of the hallway, accent far more noticeable now that they stood within a few steps of each other.

“Oh!” Raistlin replied with a start. “Yes, I have a keychain for you, for the home automation. I’ll go get it. Thank you for reminding me, Dalamar.”

A slow smile worked its way over Dalamar’s face as Raistlin left the room. “Normally, he is not forgetful.”

“He doesn’t seem to be, no,” Crysania replied. “What is the home automation like?”

Entering the room, Dalamar moved toward the far counter with a few appliances on it. “Watch,” he said, tucking hair behind one ear and revealing several piercings that glinted in the light from the window. “Guardian?” he asked, seemingly to the air.

A tinkling chime answered him.

“Coffee, please.”

With a click, the lights on the coffee maker came on. A moment later, the gurgle of the percolator sounded.

“It’s a good thing I changed that out after you left,” Raistlin sighed, rejoining them.

“You always do,” Dalamar replied with a one-armed shrug.

“Crysania,” Raistlin said, turning to her. An old-fashioned key rested in his hand. It had a short metal chain with a small dewdrop shaped piece of metal at the end. “You’ll be able to come and go, with this.”

Excitement growing, Crysania realized she was smiling again. “Thank you,” she replied, lifting her hand to collect the key. His palm was hot beneath her fingers and dry as paper. It made her skin seem cool in comparison, even though she wasn’t cold.

“Good, that’s all taken care of,” Crysania’s father said, rising from his chair at the table.

“I believe so, yes,” Raistlin replied, glancing to Crysania. “You’re free to move in as soon as you’re ready. As you have a key, it’s entirely up to you, but… preferably, not in the middle of the night, lest the neighbors think I’m getting robbed.”

Crysania, as well as her parents, broke into soft laughter.

“Oh, no, I’ll email you. It’ll be next weekend, probably?” Crysania asked, turning the query toward her parents.

“Most likely yes. We’ll give you plenty of warning,” her father confirmed.

“Excellent. That’s that, and I look forward to having you about the place,” Raistlin said, inclining his head.

“Alright then, let’s head home.” Crysania’s father extended his arms up in a stretch. Once finished, he offered a hand to Raistlin and the two shook. “It’s been a pleasure. Look after my daughter. Let me know if she starts going to any of those rowdy college parties.”

“Oh daddy,” Crysania muttered, looking away.

“In all fairness, she seems about as much the type for that sort of life as I am,” Raistlin replied.

“That means never,” Dalamar clarified from where he was leaning his back against the kitchen counter.

“I’m fine with never!” Crysania’s mother replied cheerfully, heading for the door.

“Oh  _ mom _ ,” Crysania sighed. “I’m not fifteen.”

“No, you’re not. I’m perfectly aware that you’re twenty-nine, responsible, and sensible. But that doesn’t mean temptation never wins out.”

“If I ever go to a party that I don’t like, I’ll just leave,” Crysania groused.

Slipping by them, Raistlin pushed the deadbolt aside and unlocked the door. Watching him, Crysania realized Dalamar must have locked it when he came in. Once the latches were free, he drew it open for them. “Thank you for coming,” he said, watching them navigate the step. Once they were on the path, Crysania looked back just as he closed the door.

Smiling, she dug the key out of her pocket and looked at the chain. The smooth metallic teardrop sent a dot of reflected sunlight racing around the footpath. Upon closer inspection, she realized it had a small laser-engraving that read ‘L-One, 03.’


	3. It's love, that's all

Although she’d given the matter a great deal of thought, the reality of moving didn’t entirely sink in until she opened an empty rolling suitcase on her bed. She was doing this. By the time she opened a second, along with an older double-clasp with a leather handle that had been her mother’s, it was settling in.

She was moving out.

Not only was she moving out, she was moving five hours away from Long Island.

What if she got homesick? Cornell's graduate program ran for five years. She'd have holiday breaks to return home, of course, but by and large she was moving to Ithaca for half a decade.

Frowning, she went to rummage in her closet. It wasn’t as though she’d never traveled before. She’d gone to Greece for two weeks with her parents after graduating with her bachelor’s. She’d been to Disney World (twice), and gone camping with friends in the White Mountains of New Hampshire over summer break in her sophomore year. They’d rented cabins, but since the place had two outhouses and a firepit, she’d fully considered it camping.

Of course, none of those things had been long-term.

Feeling ridiculous, she gathered her favorite shirts from their hangers and draped them over her arm. When she couldn’t handle more, she returned to her suitcases and started rolling them tightly to fit as many as possible in the smallest amount of space. On her second trip from the closet, she realized her knit sweaters were largely resistant to her attempts to squish them into small areas.

“Listen, sweaters-” she grumbled, trying to coil them tightly.

“-talking to yourself, I see,” said her mother from the doorway. “Don’t rush things, you still have a few days.”

Straightening, Crysania watched the sweater she’d most recently manhandled slowly uncoil itself. “My clothes aren’t going to pack themselves. If anything, they’re going to resist me the whole way. I’m starting to think they’re just as nervous as I am about all this.”

Laughing quietly, her mother waved for her to follow. “Come on Crissy, dinner’s ready. I’ll help you pack after we eat.”

Crysania abandoned the shirts with a sigh. “It’ll go quicker with both of us.”

“Well, you do have a lot of clothes.”

“Oh mom,” Crysania replied, following her out of the room.

~*~

[[Messages]]

_ Crysania: Hi! We’re on our way! It’s a four hour drive though, so don’t expect us right away. I’ll message again when we’re close. It’s a good thing it was so rainy over the weekend, because we didn’t find out until Sunday that the enrollment office was only open on weekdays. My dad got today off though.  _

_ (sent 8 minutes ago)  _

_ Raistlin: Oh good. I’ll be home, as well as Dalamar. He said he’d be happy to help you bring things in. I’m unfortunately working until 6pm, but I’ll be free after that.  _

_ Crysania: That’s okay! My dad’s driving again, and my mother is coming along. I’m sure we can get everything, but Dalamar can help if he wants to! My mother can't lift much, and I don't really work out. :)  _

_ Raistlin: It looks like you might run into traffic on NY-17 and I-81 North. Construction.  _

_ Crysania: Gross. I’ll let them know.  _

_ (sent 4 minutes ago)  _

_ Raistlin: ‘Gross’ made me laugh in a work conference.  _

_ Crysania: omg they’re not mad are they?  _

_ Raistlin: No, no. They’re all convinced I’m insane. It’s nothing new.  _

_ Crysania: What’s it like, working from home? What do you do? My dad only does that if the weather’s bad. He’ll conference in over webcam.  _

_ (sent 11 minutes ago)  _

_ Raistlin: It’s convenient, mostly. My employer used to have a brick and mortar office, but soon realized everyone communicated over Slack. Having an office was perfunctory at best. That was before I worked for them, of course. I wouldn’t have been willing to relocate to San Francisco.  _

_ Crysania: Is that because of Cornell?  _

_ Raistlin: Mostly, yes. I’m familiar with the campus and… established. Oh and earthquakes. Not a fan.  _

_ Crysania: Earthquakes are scary. I guess I wouldn’t want to live there either. It’s a pretty place to visit though.  _

_ Raistlin: I’ve never been, but perhaps I’ll go eventually.  _

_ Crysania: What places have you traveled to?  _

_ (sent 14 minutes ago)  _

_ Raistlin: Here and there. =)  _

_ Crysania: I don’t mean to pry. I guess that could be considered a personal question.  _

_ Raistlin: Oh it’s… well, some of my traveling has been entirely work-related, such as meetups and conferences. Business over pleasure. A lot of places I didn’t care to go, but did anyway. If your father travels for work, he’ll know what I mean.  _

_ Crysania: That makes sense. He’s had business trips that were more inconvenience than anything. He gets colds from the airplanes.  _

_ Raistlin: Oh yes, that’s another factor.  _

_ (sent 9 minutes ago)  _

_ Crysania: I don’t want to keep you from your work, if I am. It’s just, I’m pretty excited. I’ve traveled, but I’ve never lived away from home before.  _

_ Raistlin: You’re not. The conference ended a little while ago. It’s regular things, now.  _

_ Raistlin: I hope you’ll like it up here. It’s beautiful in the autumn, which is… soon, now. Winter’s beautiful too, but often a trial. The power might go out. I’ll have to find a cafe to work, if that happens.  _

_ Crysania: Does the power go out often?  _

_ Raistlin: No, not really. We stayed on last winter, but it went out for a day or so more than once in the year prior.  _

_ Crysania: Do you ever get snowed in?  _

_ Raistlin: Hah, only by choice. I have chains for my car, if need be. I’ve only had to use them once. Besides, a lot of things are within walking distance.  _

 

Staring at her screen, Crysania breathed a sigh of relief.

“Crissy?” her mother inquired from the front seat.

“Oh I’m just texting with Raistlin. I was asking about the weather.”

 

_ Crysania: That’s good. I don’t mind walking in the snow.  _

_ Raistlin: We’ll probably do a lot of it, so that’s good.  _

_ Crysania: What inspired you to rent out the upstairs bedroom?  _

_ (sent 12 minutes ago)  _

_ Raistlin: It was… surprisingly quiet, after my brother and his girlfriend moved out. They’re both extroverts; you’ll probably meet them soon enough. He drops by to visit. Very friendly, but… difficult for me.  _

_ Crysania: What made them difficult?  _

_ (sent 3 minutes ago)  _

_ Raistlin: Noise, mostly. Beyond that, mm. Our careers are taking us in separate directions. He’s very good at his, but gets a little too close to mine. Difficult to explain. I think you’ll understand when you meet them.  _

_ (sent 2 minutes ago)  _

 

Crysania frowned, looking at her screen. She really  _ wasn’t _ sure what he meant, but maybe he was right and she’d figure it out after she'd had a chance to meet them.

 

_ Crysania: What do you and Dalamar like to do in your spare time?  _

_ Raistlin: I don’t have much to speak of, which will be especially true once I resume nights over at Cornell. Dalamar, well. Ask him. =) I’m sure he’ll love to take you places.  _

_ Crysania: What kind of places?  _

_ Raistlin: Oh… nothing inappropriate, but very possibly surprising. How do you feel about skating?  _

_ Crysania: I love skating! I almost claimed a state title when I was in high school. Does Dalamar skate?  _

_ Raistlin: He does. I think he’ll be through the roof at the thought of having someone to skate with.  _

_ Crysania: Do you skate?  _

_ Raistlin: Oh, no. I never learned. It fills me with the oddest sensation of horror whenever I try. Similar to heights.  _

_ Crysania: Well you are kind of tall. It probably helped that I started skating when I was little.  _

_ Raistlin: Dalamar’s an inch shy of my height, but… perhaps he started young, too. I’d like to watch the two of you skate sometime.  _

_ Crysania: Are you sure you’re fine with just watching?  _

_ Raistlin: Yes. I’m accustomed to it.  _

_ (sent 7 minutes ago)  _

 

Crysania shifted to sit cross-legged on her seat. She couldn’t tell if the admission on the screen was a sad one, or just neutral.

 

_ Crysania: How do you mean?  _

_ Raistlin: Asthma interferes with a great many things, often unexpectedly. Due to this, people with asthma tend to start avoiding things that might trigger an asthma attack. I try to avoid shirking out of things, but… sometimes, it’s just easier. Heightened anxiety or sudden stress can set it off. Unfortunately, stepping out on sheer ice wearing thin metal blades for shoes fills me with the fear of god, so it’s not a good mix. =)  _

 

To her surprise, Crysania found herself giggling despite the serious tone.  

“What’s funny?” her father asked from the front seat.

“Oh, nothing daddy. I just, I think everything’s going to be fine. I’m probably going to really enjoy living with Raistlin and Dalamar.”

~*~

Raistlin’s tip about the construction traffic proved true, but Crysania hardly noticed. She continued texting right up until the navigation console alerted them of their imminent arrival.

 

_ Crysania: We’ll be there in ten minutes.  _

_ Raistlin: Excellent. The door’s unlocked. =) I can’t come greet you just yet, but I’ll let Dalamar know.  _

_ Crysania: Okay! :)  _

 

Crysania recognized the street when they turned into it, even though they’d approached from the opposite direction. This time, she could see the house through the windshield, from the back seat.

A twinge of anxiety flickered through her chest.

This was it. As soon as she was unpacked, they’d planned to head over to Cornell’s registration office with the paperwork to finalize her enrollment. Once that was finished, she’d be able to sign up for her classes.

“I’ll back us half into the driveway so we can unload,” her father said from the driver's seat. While he shifted into reverse and edged them in, Crysania unbuckled and started gathering the items she had in the back seat. Her legs had fallen asleep from the long drive and she couldn’t wait to stretch them.

As soon as her father shifted into park and pulled up the e-brake, she hopped out of the car. Waiting for the hatchback to rise, she spotted the front door opening. Dalamar pushed it wide, then headed over.

“If you like, I am happy to help,” he offered, giving a wave to her father.

“Definitely,” Crysania replied, “-but, be careful, some of these are packed really full and they’re heavy.”

“Eh,” he replied, reaching for one. “I am unconcerned.” Tugging his selection to the edge of the trunk he--to Crysania’s astonishment--lifted it as though it was barely heavier than a bag of pet food.

She blinked as he headed back toward the house.

“Boys,” Crysania’s mother said, grinning. “It’s good of him to help. I know I can’t lift these. Here, let’s get this one out and roll it up there.”

Together, the two wiggled it free from the back of the car. Its base fall to the driveway with a thump. Extending the handle, Crysania pulled it over the driveway, up the steps, and then lifted it over the doorstep and into the house.

“If you like, I will carry that up as well?” Dalamar asked, quickly descending the stairs.

“Only if-” Crysania began, but within seconds he’d tucked it up over his shoulder and turned to jog up the stairs.

“He’s strong,” Crysania’s father said from the doorstep behind her.

“Yeah,” she replied. “I wouldn’t have guessed, just looking. He’s not, well, bulky.”

“Oh you don’t have to be bulky to be strong. Maybe he does pilates, or bikes.”

Crysania suddenly remembered the original ad, and the mention of Dalamar’s bike. “That’s right. He’s a biker. A skater too,” she said as her father made his way by her. He crossed Dalamar on the stairs with a grin.

Before long (or rather, much sooner than she’d expected), Crysania found herself standing in the middle of her new bedroom surrounded by her suitcases. Miscellaneous items she’d had in the car, including her handbag, covered the bedspread.

“I think that’s everything. Let’s get over to the enrollment office,” suggested her father.

“They don’t close until eight daddy,” she replied in exasperation. Snatching her bag, she followed him back down the stairs and out to the car.

~*~

Later, as the shadows were lengthening, Crysania’s father pulled into the street. Everything had gone smoothly at enrollment and admissions, and Crysania had a printed sheet of her part-time fall courses.

“Well, here we are,” said her mother as her father slid into a free parking space on the opposite side of the street.

Quite suddenly, Crysania felt the threatening burn of tears. Feeling ridiculous, she swallowed and unbuckled her seatbelt. Her mother and father soon followed.

“Do you want us to come in?” her father asked, looking over to the house.

“We can, if you want. I can help you unpack,” her mother offered, holding out her arms for a hug.

Instinctively, Crysania stepped into her mother’s embrace. “It’s alright mom, daddy. I’ll only cry if you come in.”

“You’re going to love it, Crissy,” her father said, pulling her into a tight hug as soon as she’d parted from her mother. “Email us. Send us postcards. Text pictures to us, hm? Stay in touch.” Ruffling her hair, he sighed, then kissed the top of her head. “We’ll miss you, but have a good time. If you need anything, absolutely anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”

Despite her prior efforts not to cry, Crysania felt a few tears run down her cheeks. Trying not to sniffle, she wiped at her face with her sleeve. “I'm too old to react this way, don’t you think?”

“No honey. No.” Snatching her for another hug, her mother kissed her cheeks. “It’s love, that’s all. We’re going to miss you. Have a good time. Go on in, we’ll wait. Once you’re inside, then we’ll go.”

Nodding, Crysania looked up and realized there were tears on her mother’s face too. Looking to her father, she noticed the same. “We’re a lot alike, aren’t we?”

“I should hope so,” her father laughed, pulling them both into his arms. “Be good, Crissy. Write to us. We'll come get you for winter break.”

Setting her lips in a determined line, Crysania gave a single nod. “I love you,” she said, looking at them both. Eyes stinging, she stepped back and--glancing for cars--crossed the street to head over the driveway. After making her way up the path, she stopped on the doorstep. The door was locked. Digging out her key, its short silver chain with its teardrop dangling, she inserted it into the lock. With a turn, she heard the latch give. Withdrawing her key, she gave one last wave to her parents before turning the knob and stepping up into the house.

Refusing to look back, she rested her shoulder to the door and slowly pressed it shut.


	4. Neither a fan of city planning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! As you’ve probably noticed I’m--for better or worse--harnessing the creative license of the ‘alternate universe’ setting (and the university placement just for fun). Although I’ve been a long-time fan of Dragonlance (since 1999 in fact, eesh) I’ve always wanted to write a story where everyone’s simply human. Mind, this isn’t to scorn the Elves, Dwarves, or Kender, but rather an exploration into ‘what would these characters be like if they were just people’ instead of, well, archetypes. With such in mind, this story isn’t going to involve arcane magic, the healing powers of clerics, past lives as fantasy characters, or the direct ‘meddling’ of anyone going by the name of Fizban or Zifnab.
> 
> It will, however, delve into human failings, our ability to access moments of astonishing clarity, some ridiculous humor, and hopefully--if I’m lucky--it’ll prove as much a treat to read as it’s been to write.

Resting with her back against the door, Crysania allowed the quiet of the house to envelop her. It was cooler in the entryway, out of the late afternoon sun. Bit by bit, the sting of her tears started to fade. Breathing easier, she straightened and headed for the stairs. Passing by the kitchen and dining room, she noticed both were empty, as well as the den to the right.

Feeling as though she’d entered a stranger’s home even though she carried a key, Crysania made her way up to her new room. Closing the door behind her, she shifted out of her sneakers and pushed them up to the wall by the doorframe.

“What a mess,” she exhaled, surveying the sprawl of her luggage. Deciding music would help, she went digging for her laptop. After unzipping nearly everything she found where she’d packed it, along with its charger and ethernet cord. Carrying all three items, she headed to her desk.

Moments later, the gentle rise of a piano piece filled the air.

Far more at ease with the additive of music, Crysania opened her closet. A long row of empty wooden hangers awaited. Above them, a wide shelf suggested room for her suitcases once she’d emptied them. Bolstered by the sight, she turned on her heel, laced her fingers to crack her knuckles, and got to work. 

~*~

Arms loaded with folded jeans and dress pants, Crysania jumped when a knock sounded at her door. Immediately worried she’d been making too much noise, she deposited her clothes on the dresser and dashed across the room.

“I, ah. I don’t mean to interrupt-” Raistlin began, his gaze sweeping over what Crysania could only imagine looked like absolute chaos.

“You’re not, I’m just awful at unpacking. And packing! Everything looks worse before it gets better,” she replied, sparing her things a brief glance over her shoulder. “I’m not being too loud, am I?”

“No, no, I was just talking with Dalamar. We couldn’t decide on dinner, and I need to go to the store. He wanted your input on dinner, and if you need to go to the store I’d be happy to take you-”

Suddenly realizing she was both hungry and hadn’t remembered to pick up food or supplies with her parents, Crysania blinked at the miraculous offer. “Yes, actually. I forgot to go. Silly of me, but… anyway, what’s good around here? I can definitely chip in. Or are we getting things at the grocery store and making something?”

Raistlin, in answer, dropped his voice to barely above a whisper. “I’d prefer the latter, but Dalamar loves pizza, Chinese, and Thai.  _ Either way _ ,” he continued, returning to his normal register. “It sounds like the vote’s yours, which helps because we’ve been tied for yes and no since my brother moved out.”

“I love pizza,” Crysania answered with a half smile and light shrug. “I definitely need to go to the store, though. Are you sure-”

“Yes,” he replied with a slight wave. “If I’m going, you’re always welcome to come along. I can message when I plan to, but if you need things and I’m out there’s Uber and Lyft. The city allowed them in just recently, actually, so they’re desperate to impress. I’ve heard they’re better than the local cab service, which amuses a great many over at Cornell. Oh and there’s always the buses.”

“That’s, I’m glad, I wasn’t sure what was up here besides the buses,” Crysania said with relief. “Should I come down now?”

“Mm, when you’re ready, I have to find shoes and… maybe a hoodie that doesn’t look quite so likely of shoplifting. I’ll message you,” he said, moving to the stairs. Pausing on the first step, he looked back. “Though you’re welcome to come argue over the virtue of pineapple as a topping. Dalamar’s quite adamant that it doesn’t belong on pizza.”

Startled into quiet laughter, Crysania brought her palm to her nose for a second to hide her grin. “I like it on Hawaiian pizza, but not everything.”

Raistlin gave a slight shrug. “I just like the pineapple. If it’s on pizza, I’ll pick it off and leave the rest. Fiendish, as far as he’s concerned.”

Crysania, still amused, watched him head down the stairs before turning back to the fallout zone of her room. Frowning, she stalked through her mess and, after a moment of digging, snatched a notepad. Dropping to sit on the side of her bed, she located a pen and started listing things she’d need from the store. After scratching  _ laundry soap _ , which likely wouldn’t be the last thing she needed to add, she returned to her feet and made her way over to the bathroom.

Although the bathroom itself was comforting, the sight of red spotting in her underthings certainly wasn’t. Annoyed, she scrawled  _ tampons _ and  _ pads _ to her list. “Maybe this is why I was such a mess over saying goodbye,” she sighed. Finishing, she went to fetch emergency supplies out of her handbag.

Problem sorted, she washed her hands and realized she liked the melon-scented hand soap. After using a soft towel to dry, she scrawled  _ toilet paper _ while returning to her room. Notepad in hand, she paused on the threshold. Her belongings remained a disaster. Between unpacking and her period, she decided additional fortitude was absolutely necessary. Cheeze-Its, gummy bears, and chocolate made their way to her list.

Satisfied, she tore the page free. Dropping it and her pen into her handbag, she stepped into her sneakers and headed downstairs. 

~*~

“Raistlin said you like pizza,” Dalamar began as soon as Crysania entered the kitchen. He occupied one of the chairs at the table, one leg resting over the other.

“Most kinds, yes.”

Closing his eyes, he tilted his head back and--rather theatrically--stated “ _ thank you _ ” to the ceiling.

“Why?” She asked, sliding into the chair across from him. “It didn’t sound like he minded if people had pizza.”

“That’s not it,” Dalamar replied with a dismissive wave. “He can’t be counted on to eat it, so then I have a whole pizza meant to be shared and I am stuck eating it all myself. It’s too much of a good thing.”

“I can probably help with that,” she said, giving in to a mischievous smile.

Clearly entertained, Dalamar tilted his chair back and folded his arms. “We’ll get along beautifully.”

“Pizza conspiracy?” Raistlin asked, entering from the hallway. Crysania noted the soft clink of car keys from his jacket.

“You heard nothing,” Dalamar replied blandly.

“Of course,” Raistlin answered, opening the fridge to consider its contents. With a light tap of fingers over the top of the door, he reached for the water pitcher and let the door swing shut. Acquiring a glass from a nearby cupboard, he half-filled it, then returned the pitcher to the fridge. “Coming?” he asked, turning to regard Dalamar.

“Not this time. I’ve been, but text me what pizza you want when you get out of GreenStar?” Allowing the legs of his chair to rejoin the hardwood, Dalamar smiled at Crysania. “Don’t let him buy the entire pineapple display.”

Unfazed, Raistlin finished his water and placed the glass in the sink. “Alright, I’m as ready as I’m going to be.”

Five minutes later found them in the garage. Circling the car, Crysania climbed in just as Raistlin slid into the driver’s seat. The interior was immaculate, unlike the cars owned by her parents. Her mother collected potentially useful items like napkins, sporks, and coins for tolls. Her father had an array of books, abandoned newspapers, and cushions for lower back support. The center console illuminated in red when Raistlin turned the key. A gentle guitar strain came from the speakers, closely followed by female vocals. Naturally inclined to try and suss out whatever she heard due to her mother’s career as a musician, Crysania tilted her head to try and better make out the lyrics.

With a deft movement, Raistlin dialed the volume into silence before shifting into drive to pull out of the garage.

“Oh,” Crysania said in quiet disappointment.

He met her eyes instinctively for a second, then--in realization--returned her gaze. “I wasn’t certain you’d want to listen to that.”

“I was curious,” she replied. “It’s alright though, if you’d rather not.”

Returning his eyes to the street, he reached for the volume dial, then tapped a button to start the song over.

Crysania soon realized she was unfamiliar with both song and artist, but found herself enraptured by the thoughtful tone of the track. “Who is she?”

“Thea Gilmore,” he replied, expression unreadable. After turning off their street and heading down another, he slowed to a stop for a red light. “What made you choose Cornell, Crysania?”

Recognizing that he was trying to change the subject, Crysania settled back in her seat to consider her reply. It was getting dark, but many of the streets had street lamps. She watched a few flash by before answering. “I think I’ve been working in this direction for years, but I wasn’t sure if I’d get into Cornell. I hoped so, because a few of my instructors at Stony Brook spoke highly of professors in Cornell’s Philosophy department. My parents, of course, wanted the prestige of a top-tier Ivy League university. I didn’t get into Harvard, but… perhaps that’s for the best.”  

“Harvard’s a bank-breaker,” Raistlin said quietly.

“It would have been, but my parents… they were hopeful anyway.” Crysania tilted her head and studied her hands for a moment. “I felt as though I disappointed them, even if that’s silly and probably not true. Cornell's still an Ivy League university.”

“This isn’t the first time you’ve mentioned concern over disappointing them,” Raistlin said, voice soft. “When you came to view the room, you told me your mother hoped you’d be musically inclined.”

“I did say that, didn’t I?” She asked, looking up. “Maybe… maybe it’s my own disappointment, because they believe in me. It’s hard to let people down when all they’ve ever done is believe in you.”

“Were they happy when you told them you’d been accepted into Cornell?”

“Ecstatic,” she replied, remembering their excitement, her mother snatching the letter to read it out loud.

“Were  _ you _ happy?” he asked, considering her for a second.

“I am now, I think,” she replied. “I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to find somewhere to stay. It’s a long drive from Long Island and the other two places we viewed were pretty awful.”

Before she’d finished speaking, Raistlin was laughing quietly. She glanced at him.

“Oh it’s, you’d mentioned when you viewed the room, but it’s not hard to believe. I’ve occupied a few such places, previously.”

“It must have been such a relief to get your own place,” she said, still wondering how he’d managed it. As far as she knew, her parents hadn’t bought the house she’d grown up in until after she’d been born.

“A relief, yes,” he replied and, while his voice remained soft, she could tell he lacked his prior investment in the subject. 

Frowning for a second, she chewed on her lip, then stopped and fished in her handbag for chapstick. After applying it and dropping it back in her bag, she decided to pursue a different topic. “How come you like pineapple so much?”

Raistlin glanced over, evidently trying to gauge the intent behind her question, but quickly returned his eyes to the road. “The bromelain, I suppose. It’s the enzyme that makes your mouth tingle when you eat it. The pieces on pizza usually come out of a can, though, so they don’t have it. Still good but if you want bromelain, the pineapple has to be fresh. I’ve heard of people using it to tenderize meat, but I haven’t done that personally.”

“Bromelain,” she echoed, mentally attaching the name to her experience of trying to make a fruit jello when she was younger. “It keeps jello from setting. My mother told me after I ruined one. I was in junior high.”

“Mm, yes, that’s exactly it.”

“So you like it because it makes your mouth tingle?” She asked, looking at him with an eyebrow raised.

Startled into more quiet laughter, he made a slight negating gesture with his fingers on the wheel. “No it’s, well, when you’re eating it, I suppose it’s… in a way, eating you back?”

Crysania blinked.

“Difficult to explain. Never mind, we’re here,” he said, trying to locate a parking spot on the narrow street.

“For a smaller town, these streets are a lot like the narrow ones down on Long Island,” Crysania observed. “Potholes and nowhere to park.”

“I try not to dwell on city planning,” he muttered, quickly executing a three-point turn to get into the opposite lane and nab a vacant spot in front of a liquor store.

Recognizing his response for sarcasm, Crysania broke into a grin.

“What?” Raistlin asked, noticing her expression after getting his key from the ignition.

“Nothing,” she began, then shrugged slightly. “You manage to say a lot without saying very much at all. Some of my instructors were like that, except they were all older-” she froze, eyes going wide. “Not that you’re old! That’s not what I meant.”

To her surprise, she realized she’d made him laugh again. As he clearly wasn’t bothered, she joined in.

~*~

Once inside, Crysania selected a cart while Raistlin lifted a basket from a stack.

“I don’t have much to get, but don’t worry about holding me up. I’ll wait for you after the checkouts,” he said, gesturing toward the registers.

“It won’t take me too long,” she replied, unintentionally following him into the produce section. While he examined pineapples, she selected bananas. Then, after parting ways, they came face to face next to the apple displays.

“If… you’re intending to buy apples, I know where to get better,” he said, a measure of uncertainty in his tone.

“I’d love better. Apples from an orchard?” She asked, brightening.

“Yes, at the Farmer’s Market. It runs on weekends, if you don’t mind waiting until Saturday. I’ll have time, and Dalamar prefers getting his food there. He’ll probably come along.”

“I’d like that,” she replied with a smile.

Glancing off to the aisles, he sighed. “Nearly forgot something. I’ll meet up with you later.”

Crysania watched him go, expression turning thoughtful.

It wasn’t until someone said “excuse me” that she realized she’d been standing in the same spot, daydreaming. Startled, she moved her cart and, to her annoyance, realized she was blushing. “Enough nonsense,” she whispered to herself, digging out her list.

After trawling through the store and finding everything on her list (along with quite a bit of extra) and not encountering Raistlin again, Crysania headed for the checkout lanes. Once she’d purchased her groceries, she spotted him sitting on a bench beneath the tall glass windows of the front entrance. It was fully dark outside and seemed--comparatively--far too bright within the store.

“I’m done,” she said, drawing up beside him.

Despite her familiar greeting, he looked up from his phone in surprise, though settled upon recognition. “I was just thinking, actually, that I’ve parked right out front of that wine shop and it’d be ungrateful of me to leave without buying something. Do you have a preference?”

Memories of going out to eat with classmates at Stony Brook flashed through Crysania’s mind. Mimosas probably weren't what Raistlin had in mind. “I ah, well, sweet wine is nice. I don’t care for champagne much,” she replied ruefully.

“Mm, me either,” he said, abandoning the bench and lifting his two paper bags. “Italian moscato? White, pink, or red?”

Emerging on the sidewalk, Crysania breathed the cooler night air. “A red sounds wonderful.”

“Red it is,” he replied, glancing up and down the street before helping her bolt across with her cart. Thankfully, nobody had parked right up behind his car, so they had room to unload her groceries. After she’d lifted the last bag, he took the cart back to the rows just within the main doors.

Returning, he paused on the sidewalk. “You don’t have to come in, unless you’d like to, of course. I’d planned to buy.”

“I’m, I think I’ll wait, I always feel overly-scrutinized in wine stores.”

“Probably because it’s true. Door’s unlocked,” he said, then headed for the shop’s entrance.

Crysania climbed into the car and shut the door behind her. It was dark, the only illumination coming from the shop fronts and the street lamps interspersed here and there down the sidewalks. Car headlights, approaching from behind, brightened the dash as they passed by.

Something in one of her plastic grocery bags toppled over.

In an effort to ignore the goosebumps starting to prickle over her arms, she dug her phone out of her bag.

A few minutes later the door opened behind her, but it was just Raistlin setting another paper bag on the floor of the back seat. “There, now we can go home. Oh, I need to text Dalamar.” Shutting the door, he rounded the front of the car, waited for another car to pass by on the street, then climbed in on the driver’s side. Digging his phone out of a pocket, he flicked through a few things and then sent a text. Shortly after doing so, he sneezed into his elbow.

“Oh,” Crysania said, having noticed the smell of cigarette smoke as soon as he’d climbed in. “They were smoking in there. Are you going to be all right?”

“Fine, I think,” he answered, quickly tugging the sweater over his head. He was wearing a dark button-down shirt beneath it. Rolling up the sweater, he tossed it into the back seat. “I tried to hold my breath. Didn’t entirely succeed.” Extracting his keys, he started the car and, after waiting for a car to go by, pulled out behind it.

“Have you always had asthma?” Crysania asked.

“Yes. It didn’t take them long to diagnose it when I was little. My brother doesn’t but we’re fraternal twins, not identical.”

“I didn’t know he was your twin!” She exclaimed, then realized she probably sounded far too excited about it. “Sorry, I’ve never actually met twins. I used to think I would but somehow I’ve never had classes or known anyone with a twin.”

As she spoke, she realized he’d looked over to study her for a moment, then turned back to the road.

“He’s older than me by a few hours. Sometimes he’ll call me ‘little brother’ just to rub it in.”

Crysania smiled at the thought. “Do you have any other siblings?”

“Mm. An older sister. Half sister, actually. She’s been out of town for a few years now. You’ll meet my brother much sooner than Kit, most likely within the next two weeks.”

“What about your parents? Do they live in town, or somewhere else?” Crysania, eager in her curiosity, looked over to him again. The unreadable expression was back, however.

Wondering if she’d asked the wrong thing, Crysania dropped her gaze to her lap.

“They’ve passed,” Raistlin said softly, after they’d sat in silence for a few moments.

Stricken, Crysania closed her eyes. “Oh. I’m sorry. I… didn’t know,” she breathed.

“It was years ago. My brother and I were just starting high school. It shook everything up, but... well. It was years ago.”

Crysania looked over and, as they passed beneath the light of a street lamp, realized he wasn’t crying. Although his voice was soft, it hadn’t sounded overly strained.

Lowering her gaze again, she sighed softly. It was hard to imagine losing her parents. Merely considering it made her eyes burn with tears. For some reason just hearing Raistlin mention such a loss made her feel like crying, yet somehow he was able to discuss it as though it had happened to someone else, rather than to him personally.

“Do you miss them?” She asked, looking over again.

“I think so,” he replied, a note of uncertainty entering his voice. “I’m sure it sounds strange but I try not to think about it. Life’s easier if you focus on the here and now instead of dwelling on the past and what-ifs.”

“You really do sound like some of the instructors I had at Stony Brook,” Crysania mused.

“Oh? What were you studying?” 

“World religions,” she replied.

Unexpectedly, he broke into the same soft laughter they’d shared earlier. It eased the tension she’d unintentionally created. Feeling herself starting to smile, she studied his face in the dim light. “What’s funny this time?”

“I’m quite certain I’m an atheist,” he answered, as though the admission revealed a measure of irony in the universe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you'd like to listen to the song referenced above, it's [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=krfOhsN0HR4) on YouTube. ( _The List_ by Thea Gilmore, from 'Harpo's Ghost.')


	5. Wine, two large pizzas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to try and update this fic on Tuesdays (or Wednesdays), but don't hold me to it! :) [Happy Halloween, by the way! It's not October in the fic, but this chapter goes live on October 31st, 2017.] Don't jump to the end note, it's at the end because it's a spoiler!

Crysania was still thinking about his reply when they pulled up beside the house. Knowing she’d soon need to unload groceries, she filed it as a conversation to continue later. Once he’d backed in and and parked, she unclipped her seatbelt. Wearily she levered her door open. Getting out, she stifled a yawn into the back of her wrist. The light over the doorstep turned on. Shutting her door, she circled to the back of Raistlin’s car. He joined her shortly after she’d lifted the hatch and, together, they heaped grocery bags up their arms. Off to their left, Crysania heard the front door open. Dalamar joined them a moment later.

Raistlin tilted his head. “Wine’s behind the front passenger seat.”

Crysania, arms weighted with as many bags as she could carry, made her way to the open door. Dalamar joined her, two plastic bags on his left arm and the paper bag of wine bottles held snugly in his right. She could hear the bottles clinking, despite his efforts to hold them securely. He held back to let her enter first, then followed her through the entryway. Raistlin came after, bags rustling. “This is everything. I just need to put the car away.” After settling his bags on the floor in front of the refrigerator, he headed back out.

“I hope it’ll fit,” Crysania said, staring at the mixture of plastic shopping bags and paper bags.

“It will,” Dalamar replied confidently. Opening the fridge, he sank to his knees. “Here, pass things. I will stow them.”

Grateful for the help, Crysania started going through the bags for items that needed to go in the fridge. With Dalamar’s help, they were nearly done by the time Raistlin came back.

Finishing with the groceries, Dalamar climbed back to his feet and dusted his pantlegs. “Go look over there, tell me what you think?”

Crysania, following his gesture, left the kitchen to see what he meant.

Candles illuminated the circular den. Tired from the day’s events, she took in the comforting sight from the arched entrance. In their absence, Dalamar had set the coffee table with plates, silverware, and empty wine glasses.

“I thought pizza would make more sense in here,” he said, joining her.

“The candles are wonderful,” she replied, touched. Everything looked cozy and welcoming.

“They’re much better than the light.” Reaching by her, he flipped the lightswitch. The overhead lamp brightened the room, overpowering the orange glow of the flickering candles. washing out the candles. Crysania winced, but he switched it off, restoring the prior comfortable atmosphere.

“I’ve been thinking about replacing it,” Raistlin admitted, coming up behind them. Regarding the now-dim overhead light, he fished out his wallet. Dropping his gaze, he  looked through the contents and withdrew a ten which he passed to Dalamar. “Tip the driver.”

A second later, the doorbell rang. Crysania started, even though she’d been expecting it. With a smile, Dalamar abandoned them to attend the door.

Obviously content to leave him to it, Raistlin entered the den and sank to the L-shaped sofa. After resting a moment, he leaned forward to work at untying his shoes. Crysania watched, then shimmied out of her sneakers. Nudging them aside so they wouldn’t trip Dalamar on his way back, she moved to join Raistlin on the sofa. “I don’t think I’m going to finish unpacking tonight,” she sighed.

“It’s a daunting task. Earlier, when you said things usually get worse before they get better… I’ve found that’s true.”

Before Crysania could answer, Dalamar rejoined them with two large pizza boxes. “Oh!” Crysania gasped, twisting for her phone. “I forgot, but, I wanted to chip in-” 

Raistlin waved dismissively, then leaned forward to help Dalamar arrange the boxes on the coffee table. “It’s fine, this is on me. I PayPal’d Dalamar earlier.”

“It’s a move-in party,” Dalamar added with a grin. “I’ll get the wine.”

“Are you sure?” Crysania asked, worried about making an imposition of herself.

“Positive,” Raistlin replied, reaching to open one of the boxes. Pausing, he sighed and drew his hands back. “Actually, I’ve just been in stores. I’m going to wash my hands.”

Eyes widening, Crysania rose alongside him. “I didn’t even think of that until you said it.”

Together, they headed for the kitchen. Dalamar looked up when they entered. Three wine bottles and a bottle opener occupied the counter beside him. “These are warm,” he said, fetching a narrow metal bucket from a low cabinet next to the refrigerator. Leaving it on the counter, he opened the freezer to collect ice trays.

Raistlin turned the tap and, once the water was hot, pushed his sleeves up and thoroughly washed his hands. Crysania followed suit. Behind them, Dalamar set one of the wine bottles in the metal bucket and loaded ice around it.

“A moment,” Raistlin said, stopping Dalamar before he could return to the den. Opening the fridge, he extracted the water pitcher and poured the chilled water into the bucket.

“Even  _ better _ ,” Dalamar said, breaking into a grin.  

Raistlin, after filling and returning the pitcher to the fridge, collected the remaining two bottles. Crysania snatched the opener and followed them back to the den.

“Half meat-lovers, half buffalo chicken,” Dalamar said, lifting the lid of the first pizza box after they’d settled around the coffee table.

“Exciting of you,” Raistlin answered, voice tinged with uncertainty.

“ _ And _ ,” he continued, “-four cheese, with steak and pineapple.”

“I love  _ all _ of this,” Crysania stated happily.

Dalamar lifted a slice from the first box and, once it was on his plate, Crysania reached for the buffalo chicken. Raistlin, leaving them to their selections, addressed the bottle of wine. Contentedly eating her first slice, Crysania watched as he twisted the bottle opener into the cork. Slowly, the wings lifted. Once they were at their peak, Raistlin used both hands to leverage them down, then--with a deft twist--yanked the cork free with a  _ pop _ .

“Let me know when?” he asked, raising the bottle and shifting forward on the sofa.

“Half is perfect,” Crysania answered, then watched as he poured. Reaching the halfway point, he stopped, then moved to fill Dalamar’s glass.

“I’ll swap you the glass for the bottle,” Dalamar said in good humor.

Laughing quietly, Raistlin filled his own glass.

Once he’d returned the bottle to the ice bucket, they raised their glasses and clinked them over the pizza boxes.

“Welcome, Crysania,” Dalamar said, lifting another slice of pizza to his plate. “I hope you’ll enjoy your stay, and that your classes are both interesting and engaging!”

“Yes, interesting classes. Preferably no terrible professors. Thankfully there aren’t too many of those,” Raistlin added.

“I have my course list, actually!” Crysania said, returning her glass to the coffee table so she could dig in her bag. Finding the printed sheet, she handed it to Raistlin.

“Oh, my glasses were in my sweater…which is still in the back of my car.” With a slight frown, he held the paper out at arm’s length and squinted. “Aha, Hecher runs a good course. I expect you’ll like him; everyone does.”

“Everyone?”

Raistlin shrugged. “He’s friendly. Occasionally irritating, but friendly.”

“Is that-” Dalamar started to ask.

“Yes, him,” Raistlin replied.

“Oh, lucky. He helped me fix my bike once.”

“See?” Raistlin asked. “Everyone likes him. Unfortunately, I don’t know anyone else on your lineup, but I hardly know everyone at Cornell. It’s worth checking their ratings to see what other students have had to say. Rate My Professor, or something like that.” With a half-smile, he re-folded her sheet and handed it back.

With a soft sigh, Dalamar reached over to collect Raistlin’s empty plate. Selecting a slice from the steak and pineapple pizza, he moved it to the plate and held it out to Raistlin. “Eat.  _ Ti smozhesh _ .”

Raistlin blinked, first considering the plate, then Dalamar. After a moment of thought, he accepted it. Crysania watched as he ate the pineapple pieces, then bit the end of the slice.

“We should play a game,” Dalamar suggested.

“What kind of game?” Raistlin asked, returning his plate to the coffee table to focus on his wine.

“Chess?” Crysania suggested.

“He’ll destroy us all,” Dalamar muttered.

“Two-person game,” Raistlin added.

“It isn’t,” Dalamar said, looking at him. “Not when you play it. Suddenly, it’s death stakes.”

In answer, Raistlin drained his wineglass.

“I can’t believe this,” Dalamar said. Fixing Raistlin with a stare, he too drained his glass.

Crysania giggled when they both reached for the bottle. Dalamar secured it. Raistlin, with a sigh, added a second bottle to the slush.

“What about cards?”

“Not cards,” Raistlin replied, moving his plate to his lap and taking another bite of pizza.

“He hates cards,” Dalamar explained.

“I don’t hate cards, I…” Raistlin countered, then sighed. “I’m sure there’s something else.”

“We could play for her?” Dalamar suggested, brightening.

“Play? Dalamar, I am not hauling my cello-”

“The clarinets!” Dalamar interrupted, setting his plate aside.

“I haven’t played my clarinet in a year-”

“Neither have I,” Dalamar said, getting to his feet.

Grumbling softly, Raistlin reached for the bottle opener.

Blinking, Crysania looked between the two of them. “You don’t have to play for me, if you don’t want to. I’m perfectly happy as it is. I mean, I’d love to hear you play, but you don’t have to on account of me being here.”

Dalamar folded his arms and stared at Raistlin. The latter, seemingly oblivious, finished opening the second bottle of wine. After he’d refilled his glass, he leaned back on the sofa and gazed up at Dalamar.

“Well?” Dalamar asked.

Crysania watched as a smile slowly overcame Raistlin’s features.

“Good! I’ll get everything. Wait,” advised Dalamar, heading out of the room. Crysania heard him bolt lightly up the stairs.

With a sigh, Raistlin sat up. After draining a quarter of his newly-poured wine, he climbed to his feet. “Clarinets, unfortunately, demand living breathing sacrifices.”

Crysania giggled, watching him head into the dark of the kitchen. After rummaging on the counter, he disappeared to the side, then returned with two dining chairs. Setting both at the end of the coffee table, he arranged them to face Crysania. Seemingly content, he extracted an inhaler from his pocket, shook it, then used it once. Finished, he tossed it to the sofa and sat in one of the two dining chairs.

A door closed on the second floor, followed by Dalamar’s returning footsteps.

“Oh, what on-” Raistlin said, shifting in his seat.

Dalamar entered with two speakers, wires, a piece of equipment Crysania didn’t recognize, a power strip, and two clarinet cases.

“No judgment, yet,” he replied, plugging the strip into the wall and setting up the speakers. Regarding his setup, he pulled out his phone. Crysania caught a glimpse of the Bluetooth symbol on his screen. A moment later, music filled the room. A steady beat, infectious. Using the device she hadn’t recognized, he scaled out the vocals.

"This is entirely too much," Raistlin said.

Left with melody and beat, Dalamar slid into the second chair and handed Raistlin one of the clarinet cases. Side by side, they unclipped the buckles.

After assembling his clarinet, Raistlin briefly placed the reed between his lips. “Drunken reed,” he said, followed by a delicate snort from Dalamar. “Start that over?” Raistlin asked, glancing to the speakers.

Dalamar reached for his phone and, with a swipe, the music stopped. A second later, it started anew.

Raistlin closed his eyes. Clearly focused, he brought his clarinet to his lips, but didn't play. Together, the two swayed with the beat, fingers ghosting over their clarinets. Crysania realized they were taking the measure of the song, and remained quiet.

"Again?" Raistlin asked, opening his eyes briefly.

With a nod, Dalamar swiped his phone. Silence descended, then the piece started over. Closing his eyes once more, Raistlin returned his clarinet to his lips. Beside him, Dalamar did the same, but kept his gaze on Raistlin.

Both kept the rhythm with their ankles.

Suddenly, beautifully, Raistlin segued into the piece. Crysania’s breath caught in her chest.

Recalling their initial conversation in the music room, she blinked in confusion. He played instinctively, talent and skill laid bare. His words, “we’re not all meant to be musicians” crossed her mind, even as Dalamar joined in. Listening to him play, she wasn’t sure what he’d meant by the statement.

They were  _ enchanting _ .

Between Raistlin’s complex trills and Dalamar’s elegant pairing, tears--entirely against her will--rose to her eyes. Both wore the same joyous expression she’d grown to associate with her mother's love for creating music.

With a flourish, they brought the song to a close. Dalamar, who hadn’t closed his eyes, grinned devilishly at Raistlin, content to wait for him to rejoin them. When he did, he started at Dalamar’s expression. With a shake of his head, he rested his clarinet over his lap and reached for his wine.

“That was  _ stunning, _ ” Crysania breathed. “How long have you been playing?”

“You first,” Raistlin said softly, lifting his clarinet and getting to his feet. Stepping over to the sofa, he sank down beside Crysania.

Dalamar transferred his clarinet to the opposite sofa and came to sit beside Raistlin. “I had tutors. He learned in high school. It’s how we met.”

“The same school?” Crysania asked, glancing between them.

“No no, if you’re very good, sometimes there are opportunities to travel. We met at a show.”

“Please don’t tell her  _ exactly _ how we met,” Raistlin murmured, eyes closed.

“He was-” Dalamar began, but Raistlin’s eyes flared open, expression indignant.

“I wasn’t going to say!” Dalamar exclaimed, staring back. “This is the other thing. I saw him go on stage. He was pale, shaking-”

Raistlin groaned and placed an arm over his eyes.

“-and angels descended when he started to play. He was incredible. Perfect pitch, elegant fingering. I had to meet him. I had to  _ know _ him.”

Crysania blinked. They were a couple. Blinking, she wondered how she’d missed it. Feeling warmth fill her chest, she grinned. “So you’ve known each other for… over ten years, then?”

“Fourteen years,” Raistlin answered.

“I didn’t get approved to return to the States until I received acceptance to Cornell,” Dalamar explained. “We kept in touch online.”

“Oh that’s, years,” Crysania said softly. “Do you attend Cornell for music, Dalamar?”

“No, neither of us do. We’re both in computer science. His doctorate, my master’s,” Dalamar answered, eyes on Raistlin’s face. A slight frown crossed his features. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. Out of breath, that’s all. Tired. It’s getting late, isn’t it?” Raising a hand to rub at his eyes, Raistlin shifted to sit up.

Crysania pulled out her phone. Somehow, it was past eleven. “Nearly midnight,” she said, covering a yawn.

“Mm. I turn into a pumpkin at midnight,” Raistlin replied.

“You what?” Dalamar asked, looking up.

Crysania broke out in tired laughing, shortly joined by Raistlin.

“I don’t understand,” Dalamar continued. “Explain?”

“Cinderella, Dalamar. The spell ends at midnight. Coach becomes pumpkin, glittering princess becomes scullery maid. I can’t face that much reality.”

“You’re not a princess. I have never seen you glitter.”

“You’ll make me cry, Dalamar,” Raistlin responded flatly.

Crysania folded into the sofa giggling.

“I don’t understand this at all,” Dalamar muttered, getting to his feet. “Maybe you do need to go to bed, seeing as how you make no sense.”

“My heart is breaking, Dalamar,” Raistlin said, closing the pizza boxes. “Hm.” Lifting his wineglass, still half full, he drained it.

“You are terrible,” Dalamar sighed, packing away his clarinet. “Leave yours. I will put it away.”

“Appreciated,” Raistlin answered.

Crysania, quite certain she was the sober one of the three of them, rose to her feet. “I can put the pizza boxes in the fridge.”

At a nod from Dalamar, she stacked them. Stepping over Raistlin’s ankles, she headed into the kitchen and worked both boxes into the fridge. Returning, she found Dalamar putting away Raistlin’s clarinet.

Raistlin, visibly worn out, was stacking their plates. She noticed his pizza slice was barely half-eaten.

“I’ll get them,” Dalamar said, waving at the plates and glasses.

Crysania, remembering her shoes, went to pick them up. Carrying them in her left hand, she returned to the sofa and held out her right palm to Raistlin. “Need a hand?”

He looked up at her offer, considering her for a moment. Then, with a nod, he grasped her hand and allowed her to help him up.

Somehow, she’d forgotten how warm and dry his hands were. Unlike the first time, her hands really were cold. It created a stark contrast between them. “You don’t have a fever, do you?” she asked, head tilted.

“No. I've always run warm.” Letting their hands fall apart, he glanced over the den. “It’ll have to do, for now. Goodnight, Dalamar. Goodnight, Crysania.” Giving her a tired smile, he headed into the kitchen. From where she stood, she heard him open the fridge and pour water. A pill bottle rattled for a second, then again as it was returned to a cupboard.

“Smart,” Dalamar said from where he’d started blowing out candles. “That was probably aspirin.”

With a gentle breath, he extinguished the final candle.

Shrouded in darkness, Crysania yawned. “Goodnight, Dalamar,” she said, making her way to the stairs.

“Goodnight!”

As she climbed the stairs, she realized it was brighter on the upper landing. Opening her bedroom door, she realized the illumination entered from a streetlamp out on the sidewalk. Preferring darkness, she crossed the room--careful to avoid stepping on her things--and closed the curtains. Weary, she headed back to her door, closed it, and dropped her shoes next to the wall. They landed with soft thumps on the carpet.

Tired, and beginning to feel the onset of period cramping, Crysania undid her jeans. After shimmying free, she climbed into bed and dragged the blanket close around her.

Eyes wide in the dark of her room, she considered the night’s revelations. If Raistlin and Dalamar were, in fact, a couple... why did they have separate rooms, and why did Dalamar pay rent?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you'd like to know what they played, it's [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y2hiCfeZr8o). :)


	6. Evolved apes, Joseph Campbell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter in as many days! (It was a quick write. The next one will definitely take longer.)

Morning arrived with cramps and the soft sound of rain against her windows. Filled with dread at the thought of getting up, Crysania buried her face in her comforter.

Resistance was futile. She needed to use the bathroom.

Eyes blurred from sleep, she sat up. Everything ached. Spotting her towels, she disentangled her legs from the bedsheets and gathered them up. After digging for a moment, she found her shower scrunchy, deodorant, hairbrush, a pack of razors, makeup, shampoo and conditioner, as well as her toothbrush and toothpaste. Straightening, she realized her non-refrigerated shopping goods were still down by the kitchen table.

Grumbling, she fetched her last emergency tampon from her handbag and headed for the bathroom.

After arranging her items on the sink, she turned to examine the shower. It took her a moment to learn how to dial the spray to the right temperature. Quickly checking to make sure the door was firmly shut, she stripped out of her shirt and underthings and climbed in.

Refreshed by the hot water, she scrubbed at her face and set about washing her hair.

Later, after toweling herself dry, she realized she’d forgotten to bring a change of clothes into the bathroom. Wrapping herself in her towels, she peeped around the door.

The house was silent.

With a shrug, she dashed into her room and shut the door. Feeling foolish, she rummaged for something to wear. Deciding on a t-shirt, hoodie, and comfortable sweats, she got dressed and furiously toweled at her hair.

No longer dripping, she fetched a pair of Advil from a bottle in her bag and headed down for a glass of water.

“Morning.”

Crysania jumped, then backed up two steps. Raistlin was in the den, curled into the far end of the sofa with a laptop. He was wearing glasses, which made her think he’d either fetched the pair from his car or had more than one pair around the house.

“Hi,” she answered. “I’ll be right back.”

After getting a glass of water and swallowing her Advil, she returned to the den.

“How did you sleep?” Raistlin asked, looking up when she entered.

“Good, mostly.” Regarding him for a moment, she decided he probably wasn’t the type to suddenly turn awkward over everyday things. “Cramps,” she admitted, frowning slightly. “Are you working?”

“I… am,” he replied, studying her for a moment. “If you like, I have something that might help?”

Crysania blinked. “Um. Sure. I took Advil, but… you’re working. I don’t want to interrupt.”

His gaze dropped back to his screen for a moment. “It’s slow today. Technical difficulties. Not my technical difficulties, theirs.” Looking up again, he gestured to the sofa. “You can sit, if you want. I was about to refresh my tea. Would you… do you like tea?”

“I love tea,” she answered, settling into the sofa.

Raistlin surveyed his laptop and its wires before carefully untangling himself. Placing the laptop on the coffee table, he draped the sofa blanket over the back of a cushion. “You can use these,” he said, indicating the one beside her. “Anything that’s around.”

Finding that she was, in fact, quickly growing cold after her shower, Crysania gently tugged the blanket over her knees and feet while Raistlin collected his tea mug and left for the kitchen.

“Let me know if anything dings on my laptop?” he asked.

“I will!” she replied. Crysania couldn’t see the screen, but stayed attentive for sounds. Off in the kitchen, she heard Raistlin open and close a cupboard. A mug clinked, followed by water running at the sink. Shortly after, she heard him add water to the electric kettle.

All the while, rain pattered against the tall windows of the den. A yawn overtook her and with a shake of her head she buried her face in her elbow. At the sound of his returning footsteps, she lifted her head.

Raistlin stopped at the edge of the coffee table with two mugs of tea. “Oh, you… probably take sugar and milk. Something normal.”

“Both,” she replied.

“Thought so.” Placing the mugs on the coffee table, he returned to the kitchen. Crysania heard the fridge open and close, soon followed by Raistlin re-appearing with a small pitcher of milk and a sugar dish with a spoon in it. He set them by the mugs. “There. Now, for the other thing. Shout if my laptop makes a noise.”

Crysania nodded, wondering what he meant. Sore with cramps, she shifted to add sugar and milk to her mug. Raistlin’s laptop remained silent. Feeling somewhat dazed from the pain, or perhaps the Advil, Crysania curled back into the sofa, mug of tea in hand.

The only sounds were made by Raistlin quietly padding around the house. She heard him go down the hall to his room, causing a floorboard to creak from somewhere in the hallway. A door opened, only to close moments later. On his return, she heard the same floorboard, followed by the tap at the kitchen sink. Moments later, Raistlin held a hot water bottle in front of her.

“Oh,” she managed, feeling tears start to build. “Thank you. I’m being embarrassing. I’m sorry.”

“Hardly. Here, I’ll hold your tea. Sit up?”

Passing him her mug, she sat up so he could place the bottle against her back, between her and the arm of the sofa.

Settling back, she accepted the mug and curled into the cushions. “You don’t have to do any of this,” she said, using the sleeve of her hoodie to wipe her eyes.

“I don’t mind,” he replied, moving his mug and sinking into the opposite end of the sofa to check his laptop’s screen. “Oh. It looks like we’ve cleared the morning’s difficulties. I might… have to go use my other computer, but we’ll see.” Lifting the laptop, he folded his legs back into the sofa and rested it on his lap.

Lulled by his intermittent typing, Crysania relaxed against the heat of the water bottle.   

“You’ve moved across the state. I don’t find any of it embarrassing,” Raistlin continued, obviously still thinking about her prior statement.

“I’m not usually miserable, like this. I’d planned to explore the area and the campus on my own, today. I was going to figure out how to get to my classes before they start.”

Raistlin looked over his glasses at one of the rain-soaked windows. “I think I saw something about this clearing up overnight. There’s always tomorrow. You’re not missing anything.”

“I’m not unpacking either,” she sighed, raising her mug to sip her tea.

“From what I witnessed last night, unpacking doesn’t seem to be the problem.”

Crysania looked up sharply, only to see his blue eyes crinkled in a smile over the top of his laptop. “Worse before it gets better,” she muttered, returning her attention to her tea.

Quiet descended, broken only by Raistlin’s occasional typing. Crysania sipped her tea, then recalled their conversation from the night before. When his typing came to a lull and he’d reached for his tea, she sat up a bit. “Some of my instructors at Stony Brook were atheists, too. It went both ways. Some were devout in this or that religion, while others were… staunch disbelievers, but fascinated by the impact of religion throughout history.”

Raistlin glanced over the top of his laptop.

“I’m not studying to be a church leader,” she continued. “If that’s what you thought.”

“I wouldn’t mind if you were,” he replied, gaze returning to his screen.

Crysania frowned. Feeling as though she wasn’t articulating herself well, she tried again. “I suppose what I’m… trying to ask, and you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, but… I’m curious how you arrived at atheism. Life has a way of sending us one way or the other, and often for similar reasons.”

“Ah, I see,” he replied, voice soft. “If you don’t mind waiting, I’m about to have an hour for lunch.”

Crysania nodded, amazed it was so late in the day.

After several minutes of typing, Raistlin sighed and--with two fingers linked--stretched his arms up over his head. “All right. Lunch. I need to eat, and it needs to be something other than pizza.” Ending his stretch, he returned his laptop to the coffee table and climbed to his feet. “I can put a slice in the toaster oven for you, though, if you’d like that for lunch.”

“I’ll help,” Crysania answered, straightening her legs beneath the blanket.

“No need. Toaster’s easy. I think I’ll make a stir-fry, myself, and you’re welcome to some if you’d like it.”

“Oh,” she replied, torn. “What kind?” she asked, watching him wander into the kitchen.

“Mmm chicken, pea pods, water chestnuts, bean sprouts, soy sauce, rice vinegar…”

Eyes widening, Crysania ignored her cramps and gathered the still-hot water bottle to scrabble out of the sofa and follow him into the kitchen. “If you need anything from the ingredients I got last night, please use them.”

“I’m not sure what you bought. Let’s see,” he said, washing his hands at the sink. After drying them, he started rummaging through the cupboards. Soy sauce and rice vinegar made an appearance on the counter, followed by a can of water chestnuts. Lifting a skillet from the hanging rack, Raistlin started a burner and slid the cast iron over the flame.

Moving to the fridge, he opened the door to consider the contents. “Oh, leeks!”

“I love leeks,” Crysania replied. “Do you think they’d be good in it?”

“Perfect in it,” he answered, glancing back to her for permission. She nodded.

Turning back to the fridge, he removed the leeks, a package of pea pods, a small glass jar of minced garlic, and a plastic box of bean sprouts. Letting the door close, he opened the freezer and removed a slim package of chicken.

Crysania pulled her legs into her chair. The water bottle rested in her lap, still easing her cramps.

“It’s good, having you here,” he said, stooping to fetch a cutting board out of a cabinet. “I like cooking, but I don’t always have the energy or inspiration for it. Dalamar’s far more consistent.”

“What do you make, when you don’t feel up to making things?” she asked, relating to what he’d said but somehow suspecting he didn’t make do with Cheese-Itz.

“Mm. Tea. Yogurt. Cereal, occasionally.”

Crysania heard butter sizzle in the skillet.

“I try to avoid cooking with oils,” he continued. “I’ve choked myself half to death with the smoke. Olive oil, all of them do it. Plain butter isn’t quite so bad.”

“I remember. Your ad said no sesame, too.”

“Mm. I think I’m allergic to that one. It’s… fairly terrible, or perhaps I am.”  

Crysania watched as he added things to the skillet (the chicken, after defrosting in the microwave, went first). Delicious smells soon filled the kitchen.

“I haven’t forgotten your question,” he said, stirring the chicken. “I probably sounded like one of those Richard Dawkins atheists and, well, I’m not. Besides, with him being so full of himself, I can’t imagine there’s any room left for theism.”

Startled, Crysania started giggling.

“It’s personal resentment, I expect,” he continued, adding soy sauce to the pan. “Terrible things happen daily. Needless death. Militant ignorance. Curable disease. If there were gods, or a single god, surely… something would be different, rather than this. All of this,” he said, pivoting to look back at her, “-seems an awful lot like the inept floundering of evolved apes, not gods.”

“And yet,” she said, prompting him to continue.

“And yet… religion, the world over. I think we made it ourselves. Collective ideas. Generations of stories. The comfort of believing there’s more to the universe, more to everything than our species just spinning away on a habitable rock in the midnight of space.”

“I think you’d like Joseph Campbell,” Crysania said, watching him add the bean sprouts.

“Mm, which? I’ve read  _ The Hero with a Thousand Faces _ .”

A jolt of excitement raced through her chest. “Oh. The only other people I know who’ve ever read it are people I took a class with at Stony Brook. I have a copy up in my room. It’s full of stick-its and dog-eared pages.”

Collecting plates from a cupboard, Raistlin didn’t answer immediately. Crysania watched him give the vegetables a final stir before switching the burner off. “How much would you like? I’ve made extra. Dalamar’s out, but he’ll probably want some when he gets in.”

Uncoiling her legs, Crysania rose and placed the water bottle on her seat before heading over. Approaching the pan, she breathed in appreciatively. “This smells wonderful. I’ll have whatever you think is fair. I don’t want to deprive Dalamar of a meal.”

When she looked up, she noticed he’d started smiling at her comment. Glancing away, he lifted one of the plates. Adding a portion, he looked back to her.

“Yes. Perfect,” she said, accepting it. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” he replied, lifting the second plate and portioning out a similar amount.

Crysania returned to her seat at the table. After putting her plate down, she lifted the water bottle and resumed her prior cross-legged position. “When did you read it, originally?”

“Mm. A few years ago. If you want to bring your copy down, I’ll dig mine out of my room. I remember making notes in it. I have a feeling the afternoon will be slow, for work, so we’ll have time,” Raistlin said, joining her at the table.  

Feeling her mood lift despite her cramps and weariness, Crysania nodded. Lifting her fork, she took a bite. Eyes going wide, she stared at Raistlin.

“What?” he asked, instantly concerned.

Crysania chewed, then swallowed quickly. “It’s the best stir-fry I’ve  _ ever had _ ,” she said, quickly going for another bite.

Raistlin, visibly relieved, let his elbow rest to the table. Dropping his face to his hand, he peered at her through his fingers. His shoulders shook with silent laughter.

“I mean it. I’m going to eat the whole plate. I never want any other stir-fry again.” She took another bite and crunched a water chestnut for emphasis.

“I’m glad,” he replied, finally starting with his own plate.

“If this is how you cook,” she said, fixing him with her gaze. “You should definitely make things more often.”

“High praise. You sound like my brother. He… likes my cooking, too. Caramon, Dalamar, and now you.” Expression thoughtful, he continued eating.

A soft chime sounded from the den. Raistlin, hearing it, dashed to his feet. “Lunch timer,” he said, gathering his plate. “If you’d like to come back to the den, it’s fine.”

Crysania, moving far more slowly, abandoned her seat at the dining table and, water bottle secured beneath her arm, carried her plate back to the den. Setting her lunch by her tea mug, she returned the water bottle to the sofa. Further down, Raistlin entered a code from his phone into his laptop, then maximized a few screens.

“I’m going to go grab my book,” she said. Receiving a nod, she turned and headed for the stairs.

After a few minutes of digging, she found her copy. Immensely glad she’d packed it, she made her way back down. The den was empty, but Raistlin’s soft footsteps sounded in the hallway. Entering the den, he showed her his version.

Their copies had different covers, but it was definitely the same book.

Both copies were filled with stick-it notes.

Feeling entirely at home, Crysania returned to her former position on the sofa. Raistlin joined her on the opposite end. “If you’d like to look through my copy, go ahead. I have a few things I need to do before I’ll be free to continue, but… by all means.”

Accepting his copy, she rested both books on her lap.

Raistlin, down on his end of the sofa, lifted his plate to keep eating while reading something on his screen.

Outside, rain continued to patter against the windows.


	7. High energy courses, a mutual friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've made a few (fairly minor) changes to the prior chapters of this fic. After digging into Cornell's degree programs with [a friend](https://archiveofourown.org/users/silencedancer/pseuds/winteryserpent), I discovered Crysania wouldn't be pursuing a Master's in Theology/Religious Studies because Cornell doesn't offer that. Joke's on me. Instead, following her studies at Stony Brook, she'd want to commit to Cornell's Ph.D. program post-acceptance. In light of this, I've changed her focus to Philosophy (as her prior college experience segues nicely into this field), meaning she--like Raistlin--is pursuing a doctorate. I've borrowed her course titles directly from Cornell's website, but made alterations regarding the times and days they're hosted (creative license).

Crysania didn't see much of Raistlin after the rainy Tuesday they'd spent sitting on the sofa. By Wednesday morning her cramps had eased up and, after showering and writing down the titles of her course texts, she'd headed out to explore Cornell. Books purchased, she trekked around until she'd found each of her classrooms. Although the campus was technically within walking distance from the house, Crysania soon realized why Dalamar biked: it was a twenty minute walk and hardly convenient. The sidewalks were narrow, or occasionally non-existent (forcing her to cross streets), and a car, passing by a puddle, splashed grungy water against her leg.

Later that night, on briefly crossing paths in the kitchen, Raistlin provided a solution: they'd stop by a bike store after going to the Farmer's Market on Saturday. She spent a lazy Sunday familiarizing herself with her course texts.

By the time Monday rolled around Crysania was ready. Her first class, Introduction to Deductive Logic, would start at 1:25pm, followed by Topics in Ancient Philosophy. Barring her Feminism and Philosophy course at 10am on Wednesdays, all of her fall semester courses started in the afternoon.

Laptop packed, she headed out the door with her backpack, a thermos of tea, and an apple. Securing her phone in a mount on her handlebars, she pulled up Google Maps and set off.

To her surprise, even though she hadn't ridden a bike since high school, the muscle memory remained. She coasted into Cornell's campus within twelve minutes and spent another five cycling around in search of a bike rack. Spotting one, she headed toward it. After chaining up and reclaiming her phone, she walked back to the building where her first class was scheduled to be. She jogged up the stairs and, entering through a pair of double-doors, headed down the hallway.

The door to the classroom was open. A few students mingled by the entrance, while others were already inside. Crysania, unclipping her helmet to shake out her hair, made her way in. Quiet conversations occurred all around her, but no one addressed her directly. Choosing a desk in the middle rows, she slid into her seat and rested her backpack next to her ankle. Content, she pulled out her text, notebook, and pencil case. It felt good to occupy a classroom again.

Slowly, more students trickled in. Crysania checked her phone. At ten past, boisterous conversation in the corridor announced the arrival of their professor. Sitting up, Crysania watched as he entered. He was tall, nicely built, had sandy blond hair, a neatly trimmed beard, and glasses. A redheaded lady followed him, branding herself as a teaching assistant by lacking a backpack and obvious textbooks.

Faintly astonished, Crysania cast a furtive glance toward her fellow classmates. Noting a few wide-eyed stares and one hanging jaw, she returned her eyes to the front of the room.  

"Hello! Hello, everyone," he announced, stopping at the foremost table. "My name is Tanis Hecher; I'll be your professor for this course, which also  _ happens _ to be titled  _ Introduction to Deductive Logic _ ..... just in case anyone's in the wrong place."

With a shuffle and the scrape of a chair, a student on the other side of the room climbed to his feet. "Sorry. Wrong classroom," he muttered, making his way to the front. Crossing behind Hecher, he opened the door and, exiting, closed it behind him.

Muffled giggling and a few snorts of laughter circled the room.

"Always happens," Hecher said, chuckling while scrawling something on a sheet of printer paper. "Now," he continued, lifting the paper and nabbing a piece of tape from a dispenser, "-I'm frequently running a few minutes behind, as I'm sure you've all noticed."

Nobody replied, and Crysania wasn't about to make an enemy of herself on her first day.

Seemingly not expecting an answer, Hecher returned to the door and taped the paper in the center pane. After doing so, he withdrew a ring of keys and, selecting one, locked the door.

"Don't worry, you'll be able to open this from in here. We'll let you back in if you need to use the restroom, all you need do is tap and someone will open it. However! The door is now locked on the other side, meaning--quite simply--that if you're over ten minutes  _ late _ , you're locked out and you'll need to make up the time. The paper, by the way, says 'you're late, please email me' with a frowny face."

More giggling and a smattering of laughter filtered through the room.

"Now, if you are, in fact, sitting in here... you're safe! Welcome to your first day of  _ Deductive Logic _ . This," he said, gesturing to the redhead with a smile, "is Naomi, my assistant. She's in her second year, and will occasionally give lectures, as well as help me grade your assignments. By all means, ask her questions. Engage her! She's here to help, and we're all here to learn. Now, the syllabus..."

Crysania watched as he pulled out a laptop and plugged it in. Naomi collected a clipboard from his supplies and passed it to a student on the far end of the room. By the time it reached Crysania, she'd assumed it was an attendance sheet and, upon receiving it, found herself correct. Filling in her name and student email, she passed it on. A minute later it made its way to the opposite end of the room. Naomi picked it up to bring back to Hecher, who accepted it with a grin. "Excellent! I'm going to send the syllabus to everyone on this list. It's fine if you don't have a laptop with you, just check your student email after class or when you get home. For now, we're going to go over it. Then, once we're all clear on course expectations, we'll plunge into our first section!"

Settling in, Crysania opened her notebook and rested her arm on her desk. Professor Hecher, naturally charismatic, effortlessly maintained the full attention of the class. His looks didn't hurt either. Idly, in between jotting down notes, she wondered how Raistlin knew him.

After covering the syllabus, discussing further class expectations (participation being paramount) and working through a section on validity and soundness, Hecher checked his watch and started winding things to a close. All around her, people started to shuffle, some rising to their feet. Crysania pulled her backpack into her lap. At the end of the period, a small crowd of animated students formed around Hecher. Crysania observed as he interacted with them, his expression open and cheerful, but--lacking questions of her own--she packed her things and hoisted her backpack to head for the door. Her next class was scheduled to start at 3:30, which gave her enough time to go home, but sitting around by herself didn't seem appealing.

Stepping out in the sunlight, she chewed her lip. It was a beautiful day.

Resolved, she headed for the bike rack. It'd be easy to kill an hour in the library. 

Later, with her library matters and Deductive Logic syllabus printed, Crysania made her way to Topics in Ancient Philosophy. Unlike Hecher's course, this one took place in an older building. She wandered the halls, tracking the numbers on the doors. Somehow she'd managed to find the room on Wednesday, but the building's layout confused her (and, when she found it, she realized she'd previously entered from a different door). No students milled in the hall, but the classroom's door was ajar. Hearing quiet conversation, she peeped through the single glass pane.

"Come in, come in," the professor greeted, spotting her. He raised a hand to wave her in.

Crysania eased the door open. Further unlike Hecher's classroom, this one appeared lived-in. The wall at the front had blackboards and the professor had an L-shaped desk in the corner opposite from the door. It was smaller, but cozier.

"Go ahead, anywhere is fine. We're still waiting on a few people to arrive-"

As he spoke, two more students filtered in.

"-excellent, excellent," he continued. "I've been told my den is somewhat tricky to find, so at least for the first two weeks I tend to leave the door open. We'll close it later, to keep the heat in."

Crysania, curious about his English accent, claimed a desk and started pulling supplies out of her bag. After arranging her things, she rested her arms on them and fixed her attention on the professor. He was older than Hecher, perhaps into his fifties, and clearly held sway over the classroom. A coat rack with a variety of personal items stood just beyond his desk, and the desk itself boasted multiple folder organizers, ceramic mug-rests, and an assortment of mugs filled with a mixture of pens, pencils, and markers.

Three more students arrived, bringing their total number to fourteen (not including the professor himself).

"Right then, let's get started." Collecting a piece of chalk, he rose from the chair at his desk. "My name is Dennis Nilus, but  _ some _ of you-" he paused, half-turning to sweep his gaze over them, "-might know me as Denubis. It's a nickname shared by faculty and students alike, and you're welcome to use it."

A classmate to Crysania's right raised her arm, catching his attention.

"Yes?"

"Why Denubis, sir?"

"Ah, well. Funny story. It involves alcohol, as a great deal of funny stories tend to."

Quiet chucking rose from those in attendance. Allowing them a moment, Denubis wrote  _ Dennis Nilus _ , underscored by  _ Denubis _ on the board.

"As I'm sure you've all noticed, we're presently situated in an older classroom in one of Cornell's older buildings. This didn't happen by accident, but rather by design. 'Topics in Ancient Philosophy' isn't a high-energy course. I'm, by extension, hardly what constitutes as a 'high energy' teacher, but adequate. I expect you'll find me adequate. My fellow faculty, when we go out on the town Friday evenings, love to remark about how I teach a 'dead subject', and in one such exchange, the Egyptian god of death--Anubis, being his popular title--entered the conversation. From there, my classroom existing as a sort of den, Anubis's den, Denubis..." he waved his wrist to signify the progression of that conversation. "Regardless, it stuck. I'm Denubis. Welcome to the Den of Topics."

Crysania watched as he returned to his desk to hunt through a folder. He carried himself with easy confidence. Although his voice was soft, only just qualifying as an 'indoor voice', it inspired attentiveness. She felt as though she wanted to hear what he had to say, even if it involved little more than Friday night bar crawls.

Another student joined them, first peering around the door. Denubis welcomed her warmly, waving aside her apologies and encouraging her to find a seat while he made his way around with printed and stapled copies of the syllabus.

"Now, since it's only our first class, I'd like to get to know each of you. We're going to pass a speaking stone around in just a moment, but first!" He gestured to a counter to Crysania's right, "-I'd like to introduce the beverage bar. As you can see, there's a collection of coffee, a coffee maker, and a kettle for tea. Don't put coffee items in the tea kettle, that's not how anything good and pure in the world ought to work." As he spoke, he walked over to the counter and opened a cupboard beneath it. "I think there might be some biscuits, but those fall under the category of sample at your own peril. All of these things are here for you to use. I try to keep it stocked but, if I forget something, jot it on the whiteboard." Straightening, he tapped a knuckle against the aforementioned board. "Oh and we absolutely  _ must _ keep it clean; they'll have my head if the custodians find coffee grounds everywhere, so if you see a mess please brush it into the wastebasket. Leave it better than you found it."

"So you're okay with people eating?" Someone behind Crysania asked.

"Yes, yes indeed. As long as we're all adults and don't leave anything for the custodians, yes. If all goes well, I may even have pizza classes, or donut classes, but we'll see. I have to gauge how my fellow faculty will react. It's a yearly thing." Returning to his desk, he fetched a small white pebble out of one of his assorted mugs. "Now, when you get the stone, I'd love for you to first introduce yourself--please, tell us what name you'd like to go by--and what brings you to Ancient Topics. It's no small feat, making it all the way to Cornell, so by all means... tell us about the road that brought you here."

Crysania listened to her fellow classmates as the stone made its way around the room. A few people got up and set about making coffee. In order to do so, they had to fetch water from the faculty break room at the end of the hall. Denubis assured them nobody would mind so long as they entered with a coffee pot. The air of the class, compared to Crysania's first period, felt like the contrast between night and day. Relaxing, she opened her bag to get her tea thermos and apple. As they covered the syllabus and discussed the course texts (there were two), she casually ate her apple. While doing so, she noticed her classmates had produced various food items and were munching away themselves.

Content and oblivious to the time, they ran over by fifteen minutes. Crysania used a highlighter to notate the week's reading assignment and, with dismay, realized she wouldn't see any of her classmates or Denubis until the following Monday. With reluctance, she started packing her things. 

Course texts packed, she looked up just as Denubis eased into the desk beside her. "Stony Brook, you said?"

"Yes," she replied, surprised that he'd remembered. "A lot of my instructors spoke highly of the faculty here at Cornell. I heard more about Cornell than Harvard."

"Glad to hear it. I've given talks there, though not in recent years. I wondered if you might've had a certain Professor Elis, during-"

"Oh! Yes! He was my favorite," she replied before he could finish. "I think, oh he  _ mentioned _ you. He called you Dennis, I should've realized."

Denubis smiled, giving a slight wave. "We met on sabbatical in Tel Aviv, years ago. I haven't seen him since my last talk at Stony Brook. How is he?"

Staring into Denubis's light blue eyes, Crysania felt her heart sink. He didn't know. 

Noticing the change in her demeanor, Denubis sat up. "What is it?" he asked, voice soft with concern.

"He has cancer." Frowning, she dropped her gaze to the floor between them. "He was undergoing chemo prior to my graduation date."

"Oh that's... so very like him," Denubis sighed. Lacing his fingers, he leaned forward to catch her gaze again. "I'll write him. I think he'd enjoy learning that I've inherited one of his assuredly brilliant pupils. But, listen. I'm keeping you, and I don't mean to."

Realizing that he didn't seem unduly upset, just thoughtful, Crysania nodded. "I'm sorry about the news. We were all rooting for him. I still am. I... would've heard, if there was further news, but maybe no news is good?"

"It very well could be," Denubis replied, shifting out of the seat beside her. With a soft groan, he stretched. "I'll email him now, in fact. If he responds, would you like me to let you know?"

"Oh, yes, please," she replied, also getting to her feet. "I think I'm really going to enjoy your class, by the way. It's a lot more relaxed than my first period was."

"High energy course?" he asked, returning to his desk's chair and drawing a keyboard close.

"Deductive Logic," she replied, watching his screensaver vanish in place of his desktop.

"Mmm yes, that doubles as a course for people seeking a degree in Mathematics. You're probably a minority in there, seeing as you're pursuing Philosophy."

"I felt like one, but not here." Lifting her bag to her shoulder, she took in the classroom. "I'm definitely more accustomed to this. I'd like to teach like this, eventually, though I expect I'll have some traveling ahead of me."

"Very likely, yes. I did a share of that myself. Considered more, but Cornell's a good place to settle. Talks, seminars, presentations. Now, teaching and a measure of 'publish or perish', as I'm sure you've heard."

Crysania smiled. "Yes. Again and again. I should go, but thank you. I'm looking forward to next Monday. Have a good night," she said, making her way to the door.

"Same to you, Crysania. I'll let you know as soon as I hear from Professor Elis."

Pausing in the doorway, she glanced back. "Thanks. I think he'll be happy to hear from you."

"Oh I hope so. Depending on the state of things, I may head down to see him."

Crysania slipped out the door just as Denubis started typing. Considering the difference between her first two classes, she found her way to the exit and headed for her bike. Unchaining it, she placed her phone in the holster on the handlebar and added the house address. After clipping her helmet's strap, she climbed on and headed for home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>   
> 
>   
> Face-claims and diddly-tat nonsense.  
> 


	8. A letter by email

_ Hi Daddy, hi Mom,  _

_ My first week of classes went well. It's hard to believe I've been here for two weeks! My housemates have been really helpful. After you left, Raistlin took me to the grocery store in town. I completely forgot about doing that (not your fault, mine). I explored Cornell and bought my books on Wednesday because it rained all day Tuesday, the day after you left. Everything's in walking distance, but some of the streets aren't convenient for it. I took inspiration from Dalamar and bought a bike, and that's helped, but I suppose I'll just have to suck it up once it snows. Oh! I was wondering if you could mail my skates? I forgot to pack them and there's an ice rink Dalamar goes to. We're going skating next weekend, but in-house rentals always make my feet hurt.  _

_ Here's my schedule, just in case you need another copy:  _

 

_ Introduction to Deductive Logic  _

_ [MWF 1:25pm - 2:15pm]  _

 

_ Topics in Ancient Philosophy  _

_ [Mon 3:30-4:25pm]  _

 

_ Sage Seminar  _

_ [Tues 2:30-4:25pm]  _

__

_ Feminism and Philosophy  _

_ [Wed 10:10-12:05pm]  _

__

_ Deductive Logic Discussion  _

_ [Thurs 3:35pm - 4:25pm]  _

 

_ My Deductive Logic professor (Tanis Hecher) is ridiculously attractive. I don't know what I expected, but devastatingly handsome wasn't on the list. I'm not interested in him, of course. It's strange, is all, and I'm not the only one who thinks so. Nearly everyone in my class stares at him, even the guys. I mean, he's a good teacher, but I think everyone's so busy staring and maybe in a few cases drooling that we're not learning as well as we could be. When Raistlin looked at my course sheet he said he knew him, and Dalamar said Hecher helped him fix his bike once. I'm not sure how Raistlin knows him; they're in different departments and "oh I know him" isn't the same as saying "I took a class with him." I haven't asked (keep forgetting to). He's a good teacher though, and it helps that I'm familiar with the subject from prior courses at Stony Brook. He sets a fast pace and nobody's allowed to show up over ten minutes late or they get locked out. His assistant, Naomi, has more to say during the Thursday discussion sessions. By next year I'll be in her shoes, but hopefully not with Hecher because I don't think I'd be able to keep up.  _

_ I'm enjoying my Topics in Ancient Philosophy course. It's taught by Dennis Nilus, or 'Denubis' as he said we could call him. He knows Mr. Elis, and used to give talks at Stony Brook. They met on sabbatical in Tel Aviv. He didn't know about Mr. Elis's battle with cancer, but when I let him know he decided to email him. I could tell they were good friends, because he didn't seem surprised that Mr. Elis hadn't mentioned anything about it. Mr. Elis hates worrying people. When he was doing chemo, he'd greet us all with a smile and say he was doing well, even when he looked exhausted and nauseous. Apparently, he's in remission! Denubis forwarded his reply to my student email. I hope he'll be all right, in the long-term. Stony Brook needs him. He taught me so much (and really cared about his students). Denubis reminds me of him, a little, and I can tell he cares about his students too. Mainly I can see how they became friends.  _

_ The Sage Seminar takes place in the Olin Library and there are quite a few of us in attendance. Sophomore, junior, and senior graduate students give presentations along with a couple professors. I'm enjoying it and taking lots of notes because I'll be up at that podium next year. Denubis reminded me of  'publish or perish' and I think the goal of the Sage Seminar is to get us ready for all the talks, seminars, and presentations we'll have to give as we continue in the field. I'm not as nervous as some of my peers about public speaking, which helps. I just hope I work up enough to talk about once I'm there. It's one thing to learn it and another thing to teach it, but I want to teach. I want to visit universities all over the world, eventually, and in order to do so I'll have to have something worth saying, something that people want to hear.  _

_ I'm eager to get into my Feminism in Philosophy course. The professor for that class was absent, so her assistant went over the syllabus with everyone. She was in the hospital apparently! Early strain of the flu. Her assistant sent out an email saying she'll be there for our second class, though, and is feeling much better (recovering at home). I can't wait to meet her, but her assistant's very capable (a junior), and calls herself  'the understudy.' Since the professor wasn't there we didn't have a homework assignment for the first class. I think I might be making a friend in that class too, or at least they're interested in being friends with me. They're very chatty and have light pink hair. We forgot to exchange phone numbers but I'll ask during our next class. Oh and Hecher's already assigned reading and a write-up and Denubis practically assigned half a book so I wasn't sad about the lack of homework from Feminism in Philosophy, precisely.  _

_ Oh and the Deductive Logic discussions are also with Hecher and Naomi. I mentioned previously that Naomi has more to do with those. It's in the same classroom and involves role-playing and dissecting things out of the news. I can see why it's a useful skill but with the news being the way it is I can't say I'm extremely invested. I'm participating but it feels grudging. When I showed Raistlin one of the reasoning tables he said "full of shit" and offered me a bottle of aspirin. I laughed but I still have twenty reasoning tables to fill out before Thursday. It's not exactly 'full of shit' but it seems... contrived, I suppose, and I haven't quite reached the epiphany of how I'm going to employ it throughout my career (and I'm not sure how the math students are going to either, even though they seem to be the majority in that class). It seems like a whole bunch of fedora skepticism.  _

_ Unrelated to the above, I saw a countdown for Netflix's second season of Stranger Things. Raistlin and Dalamar saw the first season, so we're going to watch the second season when it comes out! I'm looking forward to it, even though I have no idea how or when we'll manage to do so. Dalamar has a part-time night job with classes during the day, and Raistlin works during the day and then goes over to Cornell every night of the week. They both sleep on the weekends. I do too, and I suppose they must do homework in their rooms, but sometimes entire days go by where we don't see each other at all.  _

_ That sounds whiny, I think. I'm not unhappy. It's peaceful here. We take turns with the dishes and nobody's obnoxious. I'm able to study in peace. Dalamar and I made baked chicken and potatoes the other night, and Raistlin made stir-fry on my first day here. We ate a lot of pizza between the first Monday and Thursday. I suppose what I mean to say is that I enjoy spending time with them, but we never get to because we're all so busy. They're friendly, though, and I'm really looking forward to skating with Dalamar. It's been so long since I've gone skating, and longer still since I've skated with someone who knows how.  _

_ Oh and they both play the clarinet beautifully. It's how they met!  _

_ How are things at the house? How are you and mom? I miss you both. (I thought I'd get homesick, but I'm doing alright! It's only been two weeks though.) How are Skip and Tuck? I miss their little faces too.  _

_ If you want to Facetime, Sunday afternoons are best! I'm at home, and Raistlin gave me the wifi password so I can take my phone and laptop anywhere in the house.  _

_ Love you,  _

_ Crysania _

_xoxo_


	9. A disagreement over dinner

Crysania made chicken risotto with Dalamar on Thursday evening. The smell, homey and comforting, permeated the house.

"Let's make a proper dinner of it," he suggested, eyes on the circular table.

"Candles?"

"Yes, that's it. A tablecloth, too."

After he'd disappeared, Crysania fetched wipes from beneath the sink and rubbed down the table. A moment later, Dalamar rejoined her with a folded tablecloth and three of the pillar candles from the den. Together, they swept the cloth over the table, placed the candles, and set about arranging plates and silverware. Late afternoon sun met the stained glass over the sink, casting the kitchen and dining room in multicolored light.

"Do you know what time work wraps up for him, today?" Crysania asked, looking toward the hallway.

"Six, usually. I'll ask. You can come; he doesn't mind."

Following Dalamar into the hall, Crysania mused over the fact that she hadn't stepped foot beyond the laundry (conveniently hooked up beneath the stairwell). As they continued down the hall, she realized she wasn't sure which rooms they occupied. Dalamar, of course, did. At the very end of the hall, he knocked lightly on the door to his right.

After a brief pause, Raistlin replied with "come in!"

Dalamar opened the door and stepped through. Crysania, not wanting to be intrusive, followed more slowly.

"We were hoping you might be done soon," Dalamar said, drawing even with the side of Raistlin's computer chair.

Eyes wide, Crysania took in Raistlin's desk. He had five screens. Her father's home office only had two. "That's a lot of screens," she breathed.

Both Dalamar and Raistlin looked back at her, Raistlin having jumped slightly. "Oh. Yes. I'm sure it looks excessive. Actually, it  _ is _ excessive, but I have a hard time staggering everything I need. It's... easier for me, if everything's spaced out, visually. Less hunting." Sounding weary, he brought his hands to his face and leaned his chair back. "I'm... yes," he sighed, slowly letting his arms fall to his sides. "I'm done. Let me just sign out of all this. Dinner smells wonderful, by the way. Five minutes?"

"Five minutes," Dalamar replied with a grin. Leaving his spot by Raistlin's side, he slipped by Crysania and out the door.

"Is this all for your work?" Crysania began, curious now that she was in the room. From the layout, it seemed he'd created half a home office and half a regular bedroom. The whole area was neat, yet lived-in. The laptop she'd seen him using out on the sofa was closed, plugged in, and resting on the bedcovers. The bed wasn't made (but looked comfortable), and braided rugs covered the better part of the underlying hardwood floor. Folded clothes rested on top of the dresser. A record player occupied a stand by one of the two windows. The curtains were drawn on both windows, serving to keep the room dim.

"Work and Cornell, yes. Sometimes I'll... well." He gave a slight shrug. Two of the screens winked out.

"Sometimes what?"

"Oh I... if things are slow, I put Netflix up on one of the screens. Documentaries, mostly." Leaning forward, he peered at something on his center screen for a moment. "No. Never mind. I'll address that tomorrow. Anyway, documentaries. Ancient Aliens, that sort of thing." With a few more clicks, all of the screens went dark. "Guardian?"

The familiar chime sounded.

"Light, please."

Two lamps flicked on, one occupying a bookshelf and the other on the nightstand by his bed. Looking to Crysania, he raised both hands and mimed square-quotes. "I'm not saying it's aliens, but it's aliens."

Crysania shook her head. "I don't know about you."

"Mm. I don't either. Let's go eat."

In their absence, Dalamar had moved the risotto into a serving dish, lit the candles, and finished setting the table. Crysania spotted the third bottle of wine, unopened from their pizza party on her first night.

"This is... wonderful," Raistlin said, voice puzzled. "Is there some occasion I'm unaware of?"

"No, we just felt like it," Dalamar replied.

Crysania nodded in agreement.

"I see," Raistlin said, uncertainty remaining in his tone. "In that case, don't wait up. I'm going to wash my hands and make tea."

Having washed her hands while she'd been cooking with Dalamar, Crysania took a seat at the table. Dalamar joined her. Together, they started portioning out the meal. A few moments later Raistlin joined them, tea mug steaming.

"That wine bottle. Such a siren call," he sighed, folding his hands around his tea. "I can't have any. Cornell in an hour. Thank you, though, for dinner."

"You will need to it eat, before thankfulness," Dalamar chided, lifting Raistlin's plate. Crysania watched as he added the same amount he'd portioned to both of their plates, then passed it back to Raistlin.

Together, the three started eating. Crysania let her eyes flutter shut. Somehow, everything she'd made, everything she'd tasted, absolutely all of it had been wonderful since she'd moved in.

"Good?" Dalamar asked.

"Yes!" Crysania replied, opening her eyes.

"Very," Raistlin added. "You said this was a mutual effort?"

"His idea," Crysania said, nodding to Dalamar.

"An excellent idea."

Dalamar, not immune to compliments, smiled and continued eating.

Several moments passed in quiet contentment. Crysania soon realized she desired seconds. Dalamar finished his plate first. Crysania glanced to Raistlin's plate. The better part of his portion remained, but she'd grown familiar with his slow and occasionally picky meal habits.

"Oh, I forgot to mention," Raistlin said, wrapping his fingers around his tea mug once more. "I'm leaving Friday night for the duration of the weekend. I probably won't get in until very early on Monday."

"So soon?" Dalamar asked, an edge to his voice. "Right at the beginning of the semester?"

Raistlin's gaze flicked up from his mug. "It's business. I don't get to choose-"

"You'll come home sick," Dalamar stated.

Raistlin stared at him.

Crysania, startled by the sudden tension between her normally peaceful housemates, rested her fork to her plate. "Where are you going?"

"He won't tell you," Dalamar muttered.

Crysania looked to Raistlin, eyes questioning.

"Ohio, if you must know," he replied, still staring at Dalamar.

"Oh and what's in Ohio, then?" Dalamar asked, looking up and matching Raistlin's stare.

"What's... what's going on here?" Crysania asked, looking back and forth between them.

"Nothing," Raistlin answered, voice soft. "Absolutely nothing."

Dalamar, features paling, dropped his gaze.

Quietly, Raistlin got to his feet and, carrying his plate, headed for the counter. Opening a cupboard, he selected a tupperware and moved his food into it.

"What's wrong?" Crysania asked, turning in her seat.

"Nothing," Dalamar replied. "Throwing health away, nothing. Not eating dinner? Nothing. Board airplanes, go off with  _ them _ , nothing wrong."

Listening to Dalamar, Crysania realized he was deeply upset. It made his accent thicker.

"Exaggeration. I don't always get sick. Dalamar, you're worrying. Please stop."

"Go off with who?" Crysania asked, looking back to Raistlin.

"It's work!"

"Nyet!" Dalamar snapped. "It is not! If so, you would take phone. You would take laptop! These things, you leave them here. I know what-"

"Oh for fuck's sake." Raistlin dropped his dish in the sink with a clatter. Turning the water on, he reached for the bottle of dish soap. "I'm going to Ohio. It's for the weekend. I'll be back early Monday so don't get alarmed by the door. Aren't you going skating? Go skating. Have Jenna over."  

Blinking, Crysania turned back to Dalamar. "Who's Jenna?"

Both replied simultaneously, Raistlin with "his girlfriend" and Dalamar with "my girlfriend."

"Oh. I thought... oh."

Raistlin gave an exasperated laugh from the sink.

"What?" Dalamar asked.

"A couple, Dalamar. She thought we were a couple," Raistlin replied, rinsing his plate and dropping it in the drying rack. "Now, if you don't mind, I need to go pack before I head over to Cornell."

"Have you been to Ohio before?" Dalamar asked, getting to his feet.

Raistlin paused in the middle of the kitchen. "No, actually."

Stepping close, Dalamar sought Raistlin's eyes. "How-"

"-I'm not answering that," Raistlin said, cutting him off. "We're not having this conversation. I never want to hear any of this again. Don't tell her anything, don't breathe a word of it."

Crysania watched as Raistlin left the room. Dalamar, shoulders tense, remained in the center of the kitchen. Even though neither of them had raised their voices or broken anything, the air was fraught.

"Forget it," Dalamar said, heading for the coat hooks. "I'm going out."

A moment later the chimes sounded followed by the front door opening and closing. Crysania, thoroughly confused, shifted in her seat to regard the table. The candles were still burning. Raistlin's tea still had steam rising from it. With a sigh she pushed her chair back and stood. The leftovers weren't going to put themselves away.


	10. Bladed shoes, fudge

_ Crysania: I wasn't sure if you still wanted the tea you made, so I left it on the table.  _

_ (sent 5 minutes ago)  _

_ Raistlin: That's fine.  _

_ Raistlin: I'm sorry about dinner.  _

 

Crysania, sitting cross-legged in the middle of her bed, let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

 

_ Crysania: It's okay. I put everything away. Dalamar didn't seem fine though.  _

_ (sent 3 minutes ago)  _

_ Raistlin: I'll message him later tonight.  _

_ Raistlin: It's not a subject I'm at liberty to discuss. He knows this.  _

_ Crysania: He cares about you.  _

_ Raistlin: I should've known better than to broach the subject over dinner. Ruining the meal wasn't my intention.  _

_ Crysania: I don't know what any of this is about, obviously, but I hope your trip goes okay.  _

_ (sent 4 minutes ago)  _

_ Raistlin: Thank you. I hope so, too.  _

 

Resting her chin on her palm, Crysania stared at her screen. If it was possible to sound weary over text he'd managed it.

 

_ Crysania: If you need help packing, I can come down.  _

_ Raistlin: No, I'm... I've got this, but thank you.  _

_ Crysania: Is it something dangerous? Is that why Dalamar was worried?  _

_ (sent 7 minutes ago)  _

_ Raistlin: I can't answer.  _

_ Crysania: It's not something illegal, is it? :/  _

_ Raistlin: No. It's not illegal.  _

_ Crysania: Dangerous but not illegal?  _

_ (sent 3 minutes ago)  _

_ Raistlin: I know it's intriguing, especially with you in the thick of those deductive reasoning charts, but I truly can't answer. I'm sorry. All I can say is that I'll be back on Monday.      _

_ Raistlin: By the way, grab some pictures when you go skating? I'd... planned to come watch, but it looks like I'll have to try for another time.  _

_ Crysania: I will. It would've been nice to have you there. My parents are mailing my skates, so we'll definitely go again.  _

 

A few minutes ticked by without a response. Assuming he'd returned to packing, Crysania climbed off her bed to find her earbuds and plug in her phone. Baffling housemates or not, she still had homework to finish.  

Immersed in music on her laptop, she didn't hear the chimes or Raistlin's departure for Cornell.

 

~*~

 

Crysania's phone started its tinkling alert at 7:15am. Grumbling, she patted around for it and, not finding it, sat up. Smelling coffee, she promptly resumed her search. Locating it beneath her second pillow, she silenced the notification and, yawning, climbed out of bed. By the time she'd reached the landing, the smell of bacon was equally in evidence.

Hoping her rumpled pajama shirt and sweats weren't  _ too _ rumpled, she followed her nose down to the kitchen.

"Good morning," Dalamar said, briefly glancing over his shoulder. "I wanted to make up for last night. This is almost done."

Crysania drew even beside him. The range had a skillet of bacon, another with scrambled eggs, and a third with a pancake just starting to bubble. A plate on the counter beside the stove already had a stack of five pancakes, along with an empty mixing bowl.

"This is more than a make-up meal, Dalamar. It's a feast!"

"I was a short-order cook last year. Coffee's ready too. It's not pour-over. I wanted to smell it everywhere."

"I smelled it upstairs. Actually, I think I'll get that first." Leaving Dalamar to flip the remaining pancake, Crysania moved to select a mug. After filling it and returning the pot, she doctored her coffee with sugar and creamer from the fridge.

Content and not wanting to crowd Dalamar at the stove, she settled into a seat at the table.

Moments later, Raistlin entered the kitchen. Crysania, eyes widening, realized he'd dyed his hair. "That looks nice," she said, taking in the change, along with the fact that he was fully dressed while she and Dalamar had yet to abandon their pajamas.

"Oh," he breathed, having jumped at the sound of her voice. "Sorry. I didn't--you're up early--and, thank you, I was surprised. Box dyes are often very touch and go."

"Blond?" Dalamar asked, pausing with a stack of three empty plates in his hands.

"Sandy blond. What's... what's all this?" Raistlin asked, discovering he was standing in the middle of a kitchen surrounded by the smells of breakfast.

"Apology breakfast. I created a scene last night," Dalamar answered, tilting his head to the stove. "I know you don't like bacon, but there are eggs and pancakes. Crysania and I will eat the bacon."  

"I, you didn't-"

"I wanted to," Dalamar insisted. "Plate? Oh and you look like your brother, with the blond."

Raistlin considered the proffered dishware. "Yes, and... no, I don't, he has a beard, but... tea. I can't think yet. Go ahead, you and Crysania both. I'll catch up."

With a shrug, Dalamar set Raistlin's plate on the counter and added a fork. "Don't hide in the tea cupboard all morning."

Raistlin, elbow-deep in said tea cupboard, muttered something Crysania failed to make out. Giggling, she shifted to her feet to collect her plate and breakfast.

Later, once they'd gathered at the table, Crysania rested her elbow beside her plate and tilted her chin into her palm. "Why blond?"

"It's for his trip," Dalamar answered, using his fork to divide his pancakes.

Raistlin, for his part, leaned back and hid his face in his hands.

"I didn't mean-" Crysania began, instantly regretting her question. "I don't mean to bring that up. I just wondered. It looks good. I think it brings out your eyes."

"He's even worse at compliments," Dalamar said, sipping his coffee. When Crysania looked to him, she noticed the corners of his eyes were crinkled up in a smile.

"Why?" Leaning in her seat, she tried to peer through Raistlin's fingers.

"Rarely applicable," Raistlin replied, dropping his hands to return to his breakfast. "My brother's the catch-all for that sort of thing."

"They're  _ both _ pleasing to the eye," Dalamar said, quickly taking a bite of his food.

"Can we please-" Raistlin started, only to get interrupted by the doorbell.

Dalamar jumped up. "I'll get it. Keep eating."

Crysania watched Dalamar vanish into the entryway, soon followed by the chimes and the door opening.

"I need to replace that doorbell," Raistlin sighed, resting his fork on the side of his plate.

"Why? It sounds like it works?" Crysania asked, holding a strip of bacon.

"Perhaps that's the problem," he answered, lifting his tea. She didn't miss the quick glance he shot her over the rim of the mug.

A moment later, quickly dropping her bacon to wipe her fingers on a napkin, she exclaimed "My skates!"

"Is that what this is?" Dalamar asked, bringing the box around to her.

"My mother tapes everything to death," Crysania replied eagerly, turning sideways in her seat to rest the box on her lap. "Do you have-" she asked, looking up, only to find a pocketknife in Raistlin's outstretched palm. "Thanks," she said, lifting it. "Is it alright if I-"

"Yes," Dalamar replied immediately. "I'll go get mine. We'll compare."

"I'm curious too." Turning toward her, Raistlin rested his arm on the back of his chair.

Crysania unfolded his knife and easily sliced her way into the box. "Oh she sent fudge too. Do you like fudge?"

"Not... not especially, but that was good of her. Is it something you don't care for?" he asked, studying the parcels as she extracted them.

"Only a little. She probably had an event or something. Okay, these are my skates," she said, lifting them out. Holding them in the crook of her arm, she moved the box to the floor.

Dalamar, returning, displayed a pair in black.

"Bladed shoes," Raistlin said, reaching to touch the metal.

"You really don't skate, do you?" Crysania asked, holding it out for him.

"No," he answered, accepting it. Curiously, he turned it in his hands, then tilted it upside down to study the mounts.

Dalamar, watching Raistlin's examination of Crysania's skate, offered one of his own. Raistlin, after accepting it, continued his scrutiny of them side-by-side.

"Didn't... anyone offer, when you were younger?" Crysania asked, thinking of all the lakes and the rink in the area. "Did you grow up here, or somewhere without places to skate?"

"I went when I was in elementary school. I wasn't very good at it. They dress people like marshmallows when they're six and seven years old, so that probably contributed."

"That's so you don't get hurt if you fall down," Crysania said.

"Mm. It made it difficult to move, too, but I wasn't very good to start with. The skates I wore had two blades, while these have one. These are nice, though. Good craftsmanship. If you go next weekend I'd like to come watch." Sitting up, he returned their skates. "I should get to work. I don't know how I'm going to get anything done, what with leaving tonight, but... thank you for breakfast, Dalamar."

"If you take your plate so you can finish your food, that will be one thing done," Dalamar suggested.

With a soft snort, Raistlin rose from his chair and, after collecting his plate and mug, headed for the hallway. Pausing, he turned back. "If I miss either of you this evening, have a good weekend?"

Crysania nodded, then glanced at Dalamar.

"Keep safe," Dalamar said. "Don't get shot."

"I won't get shot," Raistlin muttered. Shaking his head, he headed down the hall.

"Shot?" Crysania echoed, looking back to Dalamar.

"I joke, mostly," he said, reclaiming his seat and fork. Looking up, he stared at the foil-wrapped parcels beside Crysania's plate. "What are those?"

Crysania, finishing her slice of bacon, swallowed. "Fudge. Do you like fudge?"

"I  _ love _ fudge."

"Oh thank god. I wasn't going to eat all of it. I like trying each kind, but you can have most of it. Let's try them later?"

With a nod, he tucked a sweep of hair behind his ear and continued eating. "Every meal is turning into conversation," he said thoughtfully. "We haven't had that since Caramon and Tika moved out. Three seems better than two, but four was too many."

In between bites of scrambled egg, Crysania felt contentment spread through her chest. "I'm glad. I didn't know what my living arrangement would be like. Between you and Raistlin, I haven't felt homesick."

"Sometimes homesick is just knowing there's something to go back to, or something familiar," Dalamar replied. "Your parents seemed friendly. Good?"

Crysania nodded.

"Mine, less so. His, ah."

At his pause, Crysania realized what he'd meant, and that he'd stopped in order to avoid revealing something without Raistlin's consent. "It's okay. He mentioned when we went to get groceries and the wine. I barreled into the subject unknowingly."

Dalamar, expression relaxing, shrugged and looked back to his food. "It happens. I try to make home wherever I am, for however long I'm there. He's made this place home. Now it's all three of us."

"All three of us," Crysania repeated softly. "With one going off on secret missions."

Dalamar finished his coffee. "It's not wholly a secret, but I won't discuss it. He thinks it's dangerous for people to know about it."

"You know what it is, then?" she asked, watching him return to his feet with his plate.

"I do. I know some of the others, too. It's the people, I think, that worry me more than what they do. But, that is too much. He'd be upset; let's discuss other things."

Crysania nodded. Mulling over the information he'd added, she finished her breakfast while he rinsed his plate at the sink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd planned to do more with this chapter, but after realizing they entered into a conversation they won't have until later, and then realizing I can't have Crysania attend her Wednesday class on Friday, the whole business received the guillotine. Additionally, I accidentally posted a draft of this back on November 8th, so I apologize if you received a notification that brought you to nothing. It wasn't meant to go live! _Further still,_ I've added a brief mention regarding Tas in Crysania's 'A letter by email' chapter, and plan to continue with Tas in upcoming chapters. As always, I love reactions, so if you're reading along/enjoying something, a simple 'Enjoying this!' fuels me like you wouldn't believe. :)


	11. Sun never sets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[ Warning: this chapter, unlike prior chapters, is rated 'M' for Mature. It includes a sexual encounter, along with traces of dubious consent, a power imbalance, and abuse of authority. ]]

**_November 2014_ **

_(Three years before fic’s present-day)_

 

Dawn’s early morning glare tracked slatted panels of light over the hotel’s carpeted corridor. Raistlin dropped his gaze to the text on his burner phone as he walked. He hadn’t slept, but the message was simple: a room number. An odd number, which placed it on the right. Four more suites to go.  

Apprehension twisted through his stomach. He’d done it. The first hour, heart racing, absolutely certain they’d realize… and yet, they hadn’t when he played the table minimum two months ago.

He hadn’t played the table minimum this time.

Blinking to clear the weary blur from his contacts, Raistlin arrived at Daniel Tilus’s suite. He hadn’t seen his professor since they’d booked into their respective rooms and rehashed the evening’s plans. A lifetime ago, or so Raistlin felt. A small metal knocker rested beneath the door's peephole. Lifting it, he gave three taps.

A moment passed. With a click, the door pulled inward. “Alex. Come in.”

“Peter,” he replied, quickly recalling Daniel’s alias. With a single nod, he stepped into the darkness of his professor’s suite. A shiver immediately ran the length of his spine. From somewhere across the room, he could just make out the low hum of the air conditioning.

Closing the door, Daniel turned on his heel. “I knew I recognized something in you,” he said, looking Raistlin over.  

A compliment. Relief flooded through Raistlin, quickly chased by exhaustion. Daniel wasn’t disappointed, but admired professor or not, Raistlin desperately needed sleep. He was quickly approaching hysteria, something only a few solid hours of rest would fix. “Thank you,” he replied, voice barely registering above a whisper.

“Forgive me. You’re tired. Can I get you something to drink?”

“Water, please.”

Ticking two fingers in Raistlin’s direction, Daniel stepped into his suite’s small kitchen that doubled as a bar. There was an easy energy to the other man’s movements that, comparatively, Raistlin didn’t feel. They’d both been awake all night but, while Daniel seemed relatively untroubled by the lack of sleep, Raistlin was ready to fold, literally and figuratively.

“Sick of martinis?” Daniel asked from behind the bar. Raistlin watched as he fetched a glass from a cupboard and held it beneath the ice maker. With a whirring grind, cubes fell into a glass. From there, Daniel held it beneath the gush of the tap.

“Thoroughly,” Raistlin continued when the ice maker fell silent. Disliking the scratchy rasp in his voice, he turned a cough into his elbow. His sleeve carried the scent of cigarettes. Wincing, he gratefully accepted the water when Daniel returned.

“Come. I want to show you the feeds.”

Raistlin, sipping his water, followed Daniel into the main portion of the suite. The curtains were drawn, but tiny bands of light were visible at the bottom edges where they didn’t quite reach the floor. Rounding the table where Daniel’s laptop and secondary screen waited, Raistlin squinted at their brightness. Daniel, for his part, slid into the wooden chair he’d undoubtedly occupied throughout the night. Glancing over his shoulder, he crooked a finger in Raistlin’s direction.

Raistlin drew even with the arm of Daniel’s chair. Resting a hand on the table, he leaned in to view the screens.

“A small array,” Daniel said, distracted. His pointer darted between windows to arrange the various sources in what was evidently his order of preference. Glancing away from the feeds, Raistlin regarded his professor in the changing light. The glow of the screens illuminated his high cheekbones and deep-set eyes; creating contrasts of light and shadow that were almost too harsh against the olive tone of his skin. In further contrast, he wasn’t dressed to the nines as the team had been, as Raistlin still was. Nonetheless, he was well put-together in plain black slacks and a pale grey mock turtleneck sweater, likely cashmere.

“How long did it take to link into the casino’s surveillance?”

“Minutes,” Daniel replied with a low chuckle.

Impressed, Raistlin returned his gaze to Daniel’s second screen and, after narrowing his eyes, discovered the largest of the feeds provided a clear view of the table he’d occupied. The rolling timestamp placed the recording just after midnight.  

“Count?”

Raistlin leaned closer to better see the screen. After regarding the deck for a few moments, he glanced back to Daniel. “Plus twelve.”

“A hot table. Two tables were hot when you made your selection. Why this one?”

Noticing that his arm was trembling, Raistlin moved his shoulder in an effort to alleviate it. “Rookie dealer.”

“How could you tell?” Daniel pressed.

Moving his half-empty glass of water to the table, Raistlin dropped his gaze in thought. “Nervousness in her eyes. Laughed a little too easily. Seemed tired, possibly still getting accustomed to the shift. Managers checked in with her. They didn’t speak, but they approached more frequently, exchanged glances. She nodded to them. Seemed to be putting on a brave face, but quick. She knew how to handle a deck.”

“Will you remember her face?” Daniel asked, flicking his eyes to his second screen.

“No,” Raistlin replied, voice soft. Looking up, he watched Daniel enlarge the feed and snip a shot of the dealer’s face.

“I’ll keep this. You’re not to engage her for the next six months, presuming we revisit this particular casino and she still works here.” Adding Raistlin’s false name and the date, he saved it.

Keeping his face blank, Raistlin reached for his glass. “Did I slip-?”

“No,” Daniel replied before Raistlin could finish. “Mere caution. You, following Rand’s cue, bankrolled her table. Her managers won’t be pleased. It’ll give cause for her to remember your face. I can wipe your profiles from the registry, I can wipe your faces from each casino’s internal feed vault, but I can’t erase human recognition. You’ll forget her face, but she could easily remember yours. The high-roller who fucked her over just before Thanksgiving.”

“Surely the casino…” Raistlin began, brows knitting.

“Won’t fire her over one major loss,” Daniel provided. “No. I don’t expect so. We won’t visit her table again this weekend. I’ll message the team.” Shifting, he extracted a similar burner phone to Raistlin’s from a pocket and, using a cord already plugged into his laptop, connected it. Raistlin watched as he moved the screencap to the phone and sent the text. A second later, Raistlin’s phone vibrated against his leg. “What I meant to say,” Daniel continued, “-was good hunting.”

Raistlin closed his eyes. “Is that what we’re calling it?”  

“You’re trembling,” Daniel observed.

Raistlin placed his glass back on the table. “I’m sorry. I’m exhausted,” he admitted. Squinting at the feeds, he stifled a yawn into his sleeve.

“Then sit down,” Daniel replied, using his palm to guide Raistlin around the arm of his chair. Delivered with his professor’s characteristic certainty, it was a simple enough piece of logic. The chair was wide enough to allow Daniel to shift back and reveal space on the seat, space enough for both of them, if closer quarters than Raistlin was accustomed to. Grasping the edge of the table, Raistlin moved into the spot, Daniel’s legs on either side of his own.

“You’re thinner than a rake. Don’t you eat?” Daniel inquired casually, shifting forward to reclaim his mouse and return his attention to the feeds. The movement brought him flush against Raistlin’s back.

“Occasionally,” Raistlin muttered. His heart was pounding. Trying to ignore it, he returned his gaze to the screens. He could feel Daniel’s warmth through the back of his suit jacket. It eased the pervasive chill from the suite’s air conditioning but carried other side-effects. Closing his eyes, Raistlin exhaled. “Are you quite certain this isn’t-”

Daniel chuckled, utterly at ease. “Too close? Perhaps. I won’t trap you if that’s what you mean.”

Raistlin considered the situation. Daniel’s nonchalance wasn’t entirely surprising. Besides, the chair was heavy. It hardly seemed worth the effort of dragging one of its three matched brethren around to pair in front of the screens. Forcing his muscles to relax, Raistlin reached for his glass of water. A ring of condensation gleamed in its absence.

“Rand’s at slots.” Daniel, shifting against Raistlin's back, reached for his phone and located Rand’s alias in the short contact list. “Would you like to shout at him for me?”

Raistlin considered the blank text screen. “Shout?”

“Tell him to leave off those and get to bed,” Daniel clarified.

“I’m not in bed either,” Raistlin observed, trying to stifle another yawn into his palm.

Daniel sighed, then straightened against Raistlin’s back and started pressing his phone’s keypad. ‘ _I see you on slots. Get to bed!_ ’ marched across the phone’s tiny screen. Satisfied, he tapped _send_.

Teacher and student both looked to the feed. Rand, occupied with the slot machine, didn’t reach for his phone immediately. Not caring to wait, Daniel turned his phone off and set it aside. “To answer your prior question, yes. We hunt. This, all of it, is a specialized form of hunting. Not everyone can count cards. It requires persistence. We’re good at that, as a species. Dean Karnazes knocked out three hundred and fifty miles in eighty hours without sleep. We’re not apex predators, but we’re adaptable. Historically, we’ve walked for days to pursue game. We’ve driven megafauna to extinction. We’re still doing so.” Daniel shifted to get a closer look at something on the screen of his laptop. The movement brought him even with Raistlin’s shoulder. “We’re not the strongest or the fastest, yet we rank alongside orca whales and tigers.”

Raistlin returned his glass to the table. “Our game doesn’t live or breathe, but the dealers-”

“Are you going to let sympathy for table dealers keep you from playing the game?” Daniel inquired, changing his position to lean around Raistlin’s left side. He rested an elbow on the table to regard him. “I would hope otherwise.”

“That’s not-”

“It is though, isn’t it?”

Raistlin looked away. Tiredly determining that Daniel’s proximity was getting to him, he tried to put order to his thoughts. He wasn’t accustomed to having people in his personal space, never mind someone prone to challenging him, someone he admired. “You’re right, of course, but it won’t stop me.”

Daniel, still watching him, rested his face against his knuckles.

“I’ll prove it,” Raistlin continued with a slight shrug.

“I expect you will,” Daniel mused. “As of today, you’ve officially graduated from table spotter to high roller.”

Raistlin felt his heart skip a beat. Flushing, he turned his face back to the screens. Rand was missing from the slot feed.

“Something tells me you’re not precisely eager to return to your room.”

Eyes widening, Raistlin snapped his gaze back to Daniel. His professor, unperturbed, gazed back unflinchingly.

“I don’t-”

“-practically sit in your professor’s lap, no, certainly not,” Daniel said, straightening up. “That said, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.”

“You invited me,” Raistlin muttered, looking away. A weak response, even to his own ears. His heart was still pounding. The room’s air conditioning didn’t seem quite so cold, suddenly. He could feel Daniel’s legs on either side of his own. “It wouldn’t be a good idea.”

“Oh?” Daniel queried. “Why is that? Would you tell someone?”

Raistlin closed his eyes. If he had sense, he’d simply climb to his feet and leave the room. Reaching up, he brushed a hand over his face. Perhaps he truly didn’t wish to. His face hadn’t been the only place blood had gone following Daniel’s confirmation that he’d succeeded, that he was officially on the team. “This is inconvenient.”

Daniel chuckled against his back.

“Have you… been with a student before?” Raistlin asked, opening his eyes.

“That would be telling.” Daniel’s voice harbored amusement. “Are you going to stay, or do I need to push you out of this chair and out my door?”

“I don’t know what you want. I’m not…”

“You’re not what?” Daniel asked, breathing softly by Raistlin’s ear. Raistlin caught a hint of peppermint.

“Experienced,” Raistlin answered, staring into the dark of the room.

“Stay, then. Perhaps you’ll learn something.”

Feeling his muscles trembling with tension, Raistlin clenched his jaw. It wasn’t a good idea. He knew it wasn’t a good idea. Alternatively, he wondered if passing out from exhaustion in the elevator on the way back to his own room was any better. Wincing, he exhaled. “I’ll stay.”

“I thought so,” Daniel growled in his ear.

“What do-” Raistlin started to ask, only to find himself silenced by a hand gripping him through his trousers.

“Let’s address this first,” Daniel suggested, using his opposite hand to free Raistlin’s belt.

Dazed, Raistlin tried to let the tension ease out of his shoulders. The neat trim of Daniel’s beard prickled against his neck. “I’ve never-”

“Done this with another man?” Daniel provided.

“Anyone,” Raistlin breathed, then gasped as Daniel, having worked the button of his suit pants free, slid a hand beneath the band of his boxers.

“Same general principle as doing it on your own,” the older man murmured, wrapping a hand around Raistlin’s length. “Are you usually this warm?”

“I run hot,” Raistlin replied, frantically attempting to gauge Daniel's expectations. Between his professor's hands and sheer exhaustion, he simply didn't know. Fighting to relax, he turned his face into Daniel’s neck to inhale his scent. Mild soap, very possibly the hotel’s own. Sandalwood? Faint peppermint. Daniel swept a thumb over his head, causing Raistlin’s breath to catch. His heart continued to race. Anxiety? Adrenaline? Pleasure? A whirl, more than adequately fueled by disbelief.  

“You’re going to slide off this chair,” Daniel observed, adjusting a leg and easily tugging Raistlin closer. The movement brought Raistlin flush against the other man’s hardness.

Daniel, equally attracted to him? It seemed impossible. Eyes closed, Raistlin felt Daniel’s methods changing. Having started with firm grips, he was now running two fingers up and down. “I don’t… have the easiest time with this, even on my own.”

“A challenge?” Daniel queried, lightly tapping the pads of his fingers over the sensitive flesh of Raistlin’s head.

“That’s, oh,” Raistlin whispered, turning his face more firmly into Daniel’s neck. The older man’s stubble tickled his nose. Each light tap sent a flash of heat through him. With a blink, he realized Daniel’s efforts were paying off. “If you keep doing that-”

“Ah, see, that’s _precisely_ what’d like from you,” Daniel replied, chuckling beneath Raistlin’s back.  

“Our clothes,” Raistlin murmured, heat rising to his cheeks for the second time since he’d joined Daniel in his suite.

“I have two hands,” Daniel replied, voice lacking concern.

“As long as you’re alright with that…” Lost in Daniel’s administrations, the latter’s method having evolved into a closed fist, Raistlin--tensing--gave a soft cry against Daniel’s neck when he came.

“Caught you in my palm,” Daniel said quietly, shifting to straighten his back.

Muscles weak, Raistlin sat up to allow Daniel a wider range of movement. “What further things did you have in mind?” he asked, anxiety building.

“Stand?” Daniel asked.

Raistlin, feeling tremors in his leg muscles, folded a hand around the chair’s left arm to get to his feet. Once Daniel slipped out, Raistlin sank back to address the disarray of his clothing. He heard the rush of the tap but, still trying to get his bearings on the situation, didn't look over.

Drying his hands with a paper towel, Daniel returned. “Pardon my crudeness, but if you give head half so well as you count cards, I think we’ll be doing quite well.”

A flutter of panic raced through Raistlin’s chest. Of course. A favor for a favor. Carefully schooling his features, he raised his eyes. “I… _would,_ but…”

Daniel dropped his rolled paper towel by Raistlin’s empty glass. “Color me curious.”

“Overly-sensitive gag reflex,” Raistlin admitted, quelling his discomfort at needing to reveal such a thing. Rarely one to drop his gaze, he found himself doing so.

Stepping close, Daniel brought a hand to Raistlin’s chin. Tilting his head up, the older man gave a half smile. “Hardly a deal-breaker.”

Later, after Raistlin departed Las Vegas and was looking out the window of a return flight to New York, he realized Daniel’s smile hadn’t reached his eyes.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If it wasn't devastatingly obvious, 'Daniel Tilus' is my alternate universe's version of Fistandantilus.


	12. Fudge and The Breakfast Club

Crysania let herself in after stowing her bike in the garage. Making her way through the foyer, she found Dalamar in the den with Netflix up on the screen. 

“Raistlin left an hour ago. I can’t decide what to watch.” 

“Oh,” Crysania sighed, crestfallen. “I hoped I’d get back in time to say goodbye.” 

“They came early,” Dalamar explained, a lilt in his accent suggesting ‘they’ were distasteful. He turned back to the screen. “Do you like 80’s classics?”

Trying to recall a favorite, she shrugged. “Sure?”

“Breakfast Club?” 

Crysania, familiar with the title, brightened. “Definitely. Let me go drop my bag. I’ll get the fudge too.”  

Moments later, backpack haphazardly abandoned by the side of her bed, Crysania folded the edges of her fudge collection to carry it back down. Descending the stairs, she returned to the den. “Should we have anything else? I’m not sure how I feel about just the fudge.” 

Dalamar, having locked eyes on the foil-wrapped parcels, slowly raised his gaze. “Whatever do you mean?” 

Depositing the fudge on the coffee table, Crysania straightened up and folded her arms. “Food?  _ Real _ food? Something to drink?” 

“I don’t know them,” Dalamar replied, edging down the sofa to accost the sweets.  

“Oh have it your way.” Amused but trying not to giggle, Crysania turned on her heel and headed for the kitchen to search the fridge. Foil rustled behind her. 

Moments later, fridge door held wide, she rested a hand to her hip. Choices were slim. Broccoli, carrots, leeks, celery. There was meat in the freezer but she didn’t feel like cooking a meal. Frowning, she abandoned the handle and, as it drifted shut with a  _ thump _ , crouched to look through the cabinets. A bottle of Coke and two bottles of ginger ale occupied the cabinet beside the stove. Glancing back to the den, she raised her voice. “Is this bottle of Coke yours?” 

“Yes! Let’s open it!” 

Partially mollified, Crysania pulled it out. Setting it on a counter, she fetched two glasses from the cupboard by the sink, then ice from the freezer. Collecting everything, she returned to the den. “I couldn’t find anything quick and easy to make, just your Coke.” 

“Might be popcorn,” Dalamar said, climbing to his feet. “Mine but, I said he could eat it if he wanted.” 

“Raistlin?” Crysania asked, moving out of Dalamar’s path to the kitchen. 

“Yes. I’ll look. Go ahead, put that on. I’ll be back.” 

“Obvious question,” Crysania muttered once Dalamar was in the kitchen. Flopping into the sofa, she reached for the remote. “Only other guy who lives here,” she continued, lifting a piece of peanut butter fudge. Clicking  _ play _ , she set the remote back on the coffee table. Fudge held gently in her teeth, she reached for the bottle of Coke and opened it to fill their glasses. Rustling sounded from the kitchen, followed by the microwave opening and closing. 

“Do you ever forget what popcorn smells like, until you smell it again?” Crysania asked, shifting to look over the back of the sofa toward the den. The microwave and Dalamar were out of her line of sight, but she could see a bowl resting on the counter. 

“Cinema-smell,” Dalamar replied. “Buttery, salty. Sometimes sweet. I like the normal kinds though.” 

“Sweet? You mean Kettlecorn?” 

“Is that what you call it?” 

“I like it,” Crysania replied.

“Yuck,” Dalamar answered, opening the microwave. “This is regular kind.” 

“Does Raistlin like Kettlecorn?” Turning back to the tv, Crysania pressed pause on the remote. She heard Dalamar open and close the microwave again, his actions soon followed by more popping. 

“I don’t know. I can’t remember the last time we had popcorn. Maybe when Caramon was here?” 

Crysania watched as he moved into view. Although she could only see his back, she heard the first popcorn bag opening. He added it to the bowl, then disappeared to collect the second bag from the microwave. Once both bags were in the bowl, he tossed the bags in the trash and returned to the den. 

“Proper dinner now,” he said, eyes alight.

Crysania, in good humor, narrowed her eyes at him. “If you say so.” 

“I do say. Now let’s watch?” 

Scooting over, Crysania waited until he put the popcorn on the coffee table and joined her on the sofa before clicking  _ play _ . 

“This movie, it’s different from schools in Russia.” 

“Very different?” Crysania asked, reaching for the popcorn. Considering the effort, she lifted the bowl and moved it to the cushion between them. In the movie the kids were arriving in front of their high school.  

“Well, there is time to consider,” Dalamar continued. “This is older movie, but in Russia there is primary school and senior school and then, if you want to study for higher education, secondary school. Secondary school is almost like college but not college exactly. Very serious, lots of tests. You must do well. No time for this, this weekend detention. If this were punishment, it would be to sit and do more school work. Some would like it. I would, except I would not be in trouble. These kids, they all look like secondary school kids.” 

Crysania, although Dalamar’s eyes were on the movie, found herself staring at him instead. It was the first time he’d volunteered information about his past. “I think they’re juniors and seniors, maybe? What did they do in your schools, if students misbehaved?”

“Oh,” he replied, giving a shrug. Crysania watched as he reached for another piece of fudge. After biting it, then chewing for a moment, he swallowed and glanced over. “They discuss your faults, foremost. If you do poorly on a test, they stand you up in front and make you recite. Embarrassing, so best avoided.” 

“What if you weren’t wrong?” Crysania asked, tilting her head.

Dalamar, quite suddenly, broke into quiet laughter. It lacked even a hint of genuine mirth.  

“That bad?” Crysania said, dropping her gaze. 

“They were never wrong,” he replied, lifting his glass of Coke. “Too serious though, all that. Life is better here. I don’t miss Russia.” Looking back to her, he used his glass to gesture at the screen. “Did you go to school with people like this, like the one named Bender?” 

Crysania didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she considered the screen and watched Bender interact with Claire for a few minutes. Frowning slightly, she rested her elbow over the back of the cushions and rested her cheek in her palm. “Not exactly. I wasn’t popular like Claire, or trouble like Bender. Some of my friends were popular, but I didn’t care for parties or drinking. I went to a pool party once, over the summer with some friends. A boy yanked my top off while I was in the pool and swam away with it. I was angry, but I couldn’t move, and everyone was laughing and staring. I had my arms wrapped around, but people kept teasing me, or suggesting I chase him, but I was too angry and embarrassed to do anything until one of my friends brought me a towel. I went home, after that. It wasn’t my idea of fun. They probably thought I was some kind of prude.” 

“They were mean. Doesn’t make you a prude. Another kind of public embarrassment, like the teachers did with us, except they didn’t strip us.” 

“I would hope they didn’t!” Crysania exclaimed, looking up. 

“Not me, anyway. Worse things later, but not as much to do with school. I like this Bender,” he said, tilting his head toward the screen. “He’s trouble, but brave. Angry too. Halloween is next month. I think I will be him, on Halloween.” 

Fully distracted from her pool-party reminiscing, Crysania returned her attention to the film. “People might miss it. Your hair is different.” 

“Let me try.” Shifting forward on his cushion, he turned to her and tossed his hair over his shoulder. “Sweets, you couldn’t ignore me if you tried.” In executing the statement, his Russian accent evaporated. Crysania, speechless, stared back at him. 

“See? Good. I’ll find a jean jacket. Raistlin has flannel around. I’ll do it. Hair won’t be issue.” 

“I believe you,” Crysania said, astonished. “Did you take theater or performing arts in school?” 

“Some, yes. Music primarily. Some voice. I don’t sing as well as I would like, but I’m good at other things.”

Studying him, Crysania settled deeper into the sofa. “I think you would’ve been popular, if you’d gone to school here.” 

“Popular? Me? Too much nerd. I game. Always on computer. Sometimes, writing software with Raistlin. He helps grade some of my projects. Teaches one of my classes twice a week this semester.” 

“He’s your teacher?” Crysania asked, blinking. 

“Teaching assistant, but the teacher only gives the assignments. They encourage the teaching assistants to run things as much as possible. It’s very busy.” 

Crysania, suddenly realizing the kids were out of the library, watched as they raced through the halls of the high school. Dalamar finally reached over for a handful of popcorn. After watching the kids run around, he sat forward at the scene with Bender in the gymnasium. “See? Brave. A lot of trouble to be in, if this were a school in Russia. Expulsion, maybe.” 

“I’d do it,” Crysania admitted, then sipped her Coke. “Except I wouldn’t have gone to my locker for pot in the first place. I don’t smoke pot.” 

“You’d throw basketball at teacher?” Dalamar asked, turning from the screen to regard her. 

“I’d draw him away so the others could get back safely,” she clarified. 

“Oh that. Not wise though, is it? He’s in enough trouble.” 

“It was selfless.” 

“They don’t even like him. Would they do it in return?” 

“It’s not about that, exactly,” Crysania said, glancing away from the screen. “They don’t like him, that’s true. I don’t think he cares whether or not they like him. He did it because he thinks he doesn’t have anything left to lose. He thinks they have a chance at avoiding trouble, when he’s always in it, so a little more trouble won’t make a difference. That’s all, really. I don’t know if he saw it as the right thing to do, or even a good thing, but he did it so they could slip away and it worked. He ended up doing a selfless thing for them. They appreciate it later, I think, but he didn’t do it for that reason.” 

Dalamar gave a slight nod, then shifted one of his legs over the other. “I would do it for friends, but not random people.”

“I didn’t say it was smart,” Crysania replied with a grin. “It’s just… a concept, I guess? Bravery for bravery’s sake.” 

“That’s trouble,” Dalamar replied. “But, I would do it for you because I think I like you well enough, and for Raistlin, and for Jenna, and Raistlin’s brother Caramon and his girlfriend Tika. Easy list. Everyone else is back in Russia.” 

“I’m happy you like me well enough,” Crysania replied, entertained by his admission. 

“You are good, and admit yourself that you would do it for others, so that answers my question about whether or not I could hope for same. See?” 

Crysania narrowed her eyes. 

“What?” Dalamar asked, raising his arms in feigned innocence.

“Oh never mind,” Crysania replied, shaking her head. Returning her attention to the movie, she watched as the kids rolled pot and Andy jogged around the library after hotboxing in one of the smaller study rooms. “Did you ever do pot in high school?” 

“No, not until I was here. Drinking instead. Drinking is common. Boring, though. Met a few girls later. That was more fun than drinking. I liked music best of all. A few times I thought I would never make it back here. Raistlin was determined. He kept me determined, too. Oh, I told Jenna about how you thought he and I were a couple.” 

Crysania, embarrassed, looked away. 

“No no, not like that. I considered it. He’s just…” Dalamar gestured dismissively. “You’ve met him. Friendly. Distant. Polite. Distant. If you bring things up like that, he just stares. I think-” pausing, Dalamar blinked. “Never mind. It’s none of my business, which he says to anyone guilty of asking. I worry, though. Jenna does too. She-” pausing again, Dalamar tapped his fingers on the cushion. “Never mind any of that actually. I didn’t say it. Tell me about you, instead?” 

Thoroughly confused, Crysania--having returned her gaze to Dalamar while he spoke--sighed. “I’m not sure what you meant by any of that and I’m not sure what to say.” 

“It’s something I shouldn’t have brought up,” he replied, leaning forward to claim another piece of fudge. “I don’t like speaking of people when they’re not around.” 

“That makes sense, but… the way you hedge around the subject. I think you know-” 

“I suspect, that’s all. I don’t know. I wouldn’t want to say something that’s untrue, and he’s right. It’s not my business. It’s his business.” 

“A relationship?” Crysania asked, trying to follow the conversation. 

“Maybe.” 

Noticing his tone lacked investment, Crysania turned back to the movie. The kids were sitting in a circle conversing. Reaching for her glass, she finished her Coke and swirled the remainder of the ice cubes. “All right. If we’re changing the subject, I guess… I haven’t entertained relationships much. I dated a few boys in high school, two in college. I’ve kissed, but we’ve always… parted, eventually. They found someone else. I was experimental. Sometimes, they just wanted to see if they could date me because they thought I was pretty, and I wanted more than that. Obviously more than that.” Tilting her glass, she frowned. “I enjoyed school. I like going to class; I don’t mind homework, and I think I realized I wanted to remain in academia before I graduated from Stony Brook. My parents live down on Long Island and that’s home but colleges feel like home too. If I travel, I want the destination to be somewhere that I can learn, some new school. Anywhere in the world.” 

“What about girls?” Dalamar asked. 

Startled, Crysania looked over. “I didn’t give that much thought either. I think I prefer men, but… in lacking experience with either, I can’t say I’m entirely certain. I haven’t felt attracted to any of my friends but they’ve mostly paired off. Some have a kid or two.” 

“People I knew back in Russia, all the same. Married. Children. Me, here in America. I see Jenna, but her father doesn’t approve.” 

Crysania, picking up on a note of resignation in his voice, leaned forward and sought his gaze. “Doesn’t approve?” 

“Oh, the usual reasons. I am Russian. Not a citizen. They call this, what is this when you fear outsiders?” 

“Xenophobia,” Crysania supplied. 

“Yes, that. She invited me to dinner. We met. He was very polite at dinner. I sensed nothing. Later, she texts me and tells me we have to talk. I meet her at a diner in town. She says he forbids it, that we can’t see each other. I ask why, she explains that it is because I’m foreign, and he is a politician. It doesn’t have anything to do with us. All is his reputation. He doesn’t want his daughter to date some foreigner.” 

Crysania, feeling her chest start to ache at his words, frowned even though he’d looked away. “That’s horribly unfair.” 

“It is, but he gets final say. We meet in secret. Sometimes she comes here. He thinks she’s visiting other friends.” 

“Does he know where you live? Has he ever showed up looking for her?” Crysania asked. 

“No. He doesn’t come here. I expect Raistlin would turn him away if he showed up and tried to make problems.” 

“I can picture that,” Crysania replied. “I’m glad she didn’t stop seeing you. My parents never tried to control the people I saw. I think my mother’s holding out hope that I’ll meet someone nice and have kids so she can have grandkids, but I’ve told her she might have to make do with the Yorkies. I don’t know if I want kids. I don’t know if I’ll ever meet someone where I’ll even entertain the thought of having kids. It’s easier to travel when you don’t have them.” 

“It is,” Dalamar agreed. “Jenna said she would like one in future but not now. She’s attending Ithaca College.” 

“What degree?” Crysania asked, curious. 

“Business. I think you would like her. If she’s free, if we can arrange. I’ll have her come by. Raistlin gets along with her too.” 

“I’d love to meet her,” Crysania replied, just as the movie rolled end credits. Reaching for the remote, she paused it to silence the music. “Did you want to watch anything else?” 

“Not tonight, no. I have homework still, one thing due at midnight. I should start it, at least. I meant to start earlier, but they came and Raistlin left and…” 

“You were worried,” Crysania said quietly. 

“Agitated, worried. All the same. I’m glad you wanted to watch this with me though. It’s good to have someone else in the house again. I said that before but it’s true.”

Feeling heartened, Crysania smiled. “I’m happy to be here too. I’m excited about skating tomorrow. The rink’s open in the morning, right?” 

“Before lunch yes. We can bike over after nine. Good?” 

“Good,” Crysania confirmed. Looking back to the screen, she lifted the remote and closed out of Netflix. 

“Did you want this fudge?” Dalamar asked, hopefulness back in his voice. 

Breaking into a grin, Crysania shook her head. “Have it. Keep it. I’ll tell my mother you’re a fan.” 

“Excellent,” Dalamar replied, carefully scooping the loot into his t-shirt. “Thank you.” 

“She’ll be thrilled.” Climbing to her feet, Crysania stretched. The bowl of popcorn and their empty glasses remained. “I’ll put these in the sink. Do you want the popcorn?” 

“Yes, fudge and popcorn.” Dalamar, fudge safely folded in his shirt, snatched the popcorn bowl. With a hurried “goodnight!” over his shoulder, he slipped out of the room and down the hall. 

“Men and food,” Crysania sighed, gathering the empty glasses. After depositing them in the sink, she made her way up to her room. Her homework was done, everything caught up, so--after considering her laptop for a moment--she decided correspondence could wait. Snatching a clean towel, she headed for the bathroom to take a shower.   
  



	13. World doesn't stop for a minute

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year Dragonlance fam! It's 10:56pm MST, an hour and four minutes until midnight. I promised I'd get a new chapter uploaded by 2018 so here we goooooooo!

“Get some sleep, yeah?”

Raistlin, working at extricating his rolling suitcase from the back of Daniel’s van, glanced up at Laurana. Resting her elbows over the back of her seat, she settled her chin on her hands to watch his progress. Sunlight glinted through the loose sweep of her naturally blonde hair. Her eyes, brown in most lighting, reflected as honeyed amber in the current brightness. She’d faced the casino floor with tight curls for two nights running. A feat by anyone’s standards; Raistlin hadn’t envied the work involved. She--having admitted as much--preferred the lack of such pretenses and promptly showered and dressed in an oversized gray sweater before they’d departed Ohio.   

“Mhm. I’ll try. Work, soon.”

“World doesn’t stop for a minute,” she replied, reaching to help untangle a strap. Raistlin’s suitcase slid free. Letting it thump to the pavement, he gave a short wave before stepping back. Lost in the sun’s glare, he closed his eyes and used his free hand to leverage the hatch shut.

Between a flight delay and further baggage delay, they’d run behind. Shielding his eyes, Raistlin adjusted his satchel and, followed by the grind of his suitcase’s small wheels over the grit on his driveway, headed for his door as the van pulled away.

Hearing a key at the lock, Crysania straightened in her seat. A second later the chimes sounded, followed by the door opening, footsteps, and suitcase wheels. “I thought he was already back,” she said, getting to her feet.

“I didn’t hear anything earlier,” Dalamar replied, abandoning the stove.

Crysania, matching his stride, found Raistlin sitting on the trunk with his head resting against the wall.

“I’m late,” he said, opening his eyes to regard both her and Dalamar.

“Oh,” Crysania said, blinking in momentary confusion. “Your eyes are brown. Contacts?”

“Yes. Dry and itchy, too,” he replied with a half smile. Shifting forward, he momentarily hid his face in his hand. With a motion that seemed well-practiced, even deft, he lifted the contacts free. When he looked up again, his eyes had returned to their natural blue.

“Surely you wouldn’t have needed those on the return flight?” Dalamar asked, crouching in front of him.

“Forgot, actually. Then, once on the plane, I couldn’t figure out how to discard them without raising suspicion. I boarded with brown and wasn’t sure if leaving with blue would draw unwanted attention.”

“Boots again I see,” Dalamar remarked, voice tinged with knowing amusement.

“Can’t help myself,” Raistlin sighed. “It’s hard to know when you might need to kick someone.”

“Did you?” Dalamar asked, resting a palm on Raistlin’s knee to settle on the floor. Once seated, he got to work on one of Raistlin’s boots.

“Kick anyone? No, not this time.”

“Shame,” Dalamar muttered.

Aware that she was witnessing a routine the two had developed, Crysania cast her eyes in search of something that might prove useful. Raistlin’s suitcase, pull-handle extended, presented itself as an option. “I can take-”

“No-” Raistlin started, glancing up.

Startled by the slight edge in his voice, Crysania paused.

“Sorry. It’s… I’ll put that away. Thank you, though.”

Eyes wide, Crysania withdrew her hand.

Dalamar, finished with Raistlin’s boots, helped him ease out of them. Visibly relieved, Raistlin held out an arm. Dalamar, using it to climb to his feet, then took Raistlin’s hand and helped him up.

“I…” Raistlin began, casting a glance toward the hallway and stairs.

“Yes? What’s the order of business?” Dalamar inquired.

“Hah,” Raistlin replied with a slight shake of his head. “First, I’d like to apologize in advance for… myself. I’m exhausted. If I snap, whine, complain, or hiss, I don’t truly mean it, especially toward either of you, and as I have to sign into work in less than an hour I can’t fix it with the one thing that works: sleeping.”

“You haven’t slept at all, have you?” Crysania asked, folding her arms and tilting her head.

“No. Not in… not in over twenty-four hours, but it can’t be helped. I need a shower and I’ll have to be quick about it. I also need to get dressed, make tea, then sign into work with something marginally approaching a cheerful demeanor.”

Crysania suddenly recalled one of their first conversations over messenger. “That’s right, you have meetings on Mondays.”

Raistlin, fingers around the handle of his suitcase, looked over at her remark. “I’m surprised you remember. Wasn’t that over text?”

“It was, yes. If you’d like, I’ll take your carry-on, but if not-”

Raistlin studied her for a moment. Then, to Crysania’s gratification, he shrugged free of his satchel and passed it into her hands. “I didn’t mean to snap.”

Crysania, gathering it into her arms, nodded once in reply.

Together, Dalamar with his palm resting lightly against Raistlin’s shoulder, the three headed down the hallway. After they’d shuffled into his room, Raistlin pulled his suitcase to his bed and lowered the handle. Nudging it with his knee, he let it fall from its upright position to thump flat against the hardwood. Lifting the edge of his bedding, he used a foot to push it beneath. “There. Now for a change of clothes...”

When Raistlin moved from the side of his bed to the dresser, Crysania stepped forward and placed his carry-on satchel on the blankets. A soft chiming noise made itself known from somewhere in the bedding.

“Oh,” Raistlin said, turning from the dresser with folded clothes. “My phone. A very quick shower, if that’s going off.”

Dalamar hunted through the blankets. Finding the phone on its charging cord, he unhooked it and passed it to Raistlin.

“I hate everything,” Raistlin muttered, face momentarily illuminated by the screen. It highlighted the dark circles beneath his eyes.

Crysania frowned, then absently followed Raistlin and Dalamar back out of the room. Closing the door behind her, she watched Raistlin disappear into the bathroom and Dalamar head down the hall. After a moment of indecision, she trailed after Dalamar. “If I made tea, what sort do you think he’d like?”

Reaching the kitchen, Dalamar turned to look back at her. “I’d go for plain, for now. If he wants something different he’ll dig it out.”

“A black tea?”

“He’ll be in want of the caffeine I expect,” Dalamar answered, gaze falling on his now-cold breakfast. “I doubt he’s eaten, for that matter.”

“I could make something-”

Dalamar shook his head. “A good thought, but we’d be lucky to get anything more exciting than cereal into him by noon.”

“This usually goes like this?” Crysania asked, gathering up the plate and tea mug she’d abandoned earlier.

“It’s… been worse. Not so bad this time. He might catch cold, might not. I can wash these,” Dalamar said, gesturing to Crysania’s dishware from where he stood at the sink. “Add yours. I have to go out but I should be back before you leave for classes.”

“Thanks,” Crysania replied, scraping her plate over the trash before bringing it to the sink and moving on to the tea cupboard.

Raistlin, oblivious to their conversation out in the kitchen, turned the shower faucet on and, after letting the water grow hot, switched it to the showerhead. Another faint chime illuminated his phone’s screen. “I know, I know,” he sighed, swiping it away and turning the phone over. Opening a drawer, he sought out his inhaler and spacer. Giving the inhaler a quick shake, he discovered the cartridge was lighter than the one he’d taken to Ohio. “Must you both run out simultaneously?” Connecting the cartridge to the spacer, he straightened up and pulled in two breaths. The second press proved weaker than the first. Tiredly, he extracted the cartridge and dropped it in the wastebasket. After returning the spacer to the drawer, he leaned to tug his shirt over his head. Letting it fall to the floor, he studied himself in the quickly-fogging mirror.

Dark bruises lined his collarbone. Lifting a hand, he traced a finger over the marks. Exhaling, features losing all expression, he turned his attention to shedding the rest of his clothes before climbing into the shower. Immediately enveloped in the warmth of the spray, he leaned forward to turn the dial for hotter water. Not satisfied until the spray practically scalded his skin, he finally set about washing his hair. Trying to hurry, yet equally intent on scrubbing every inch down to his toes, he soon realized he was losing his race against time. His phone was chiming from the sink. Ignoring it, he continued rinsing until he was certain he’d removed the last of the suds. Turning the faucet off, he climbed out and snatched his towels. Quickly toweling himself dry, he started on the change of clothes. Pulling a fresh shirt over his head, he grabbed his phone to silence the alert. Still toweling his hair, discarded laundry in hand, he emerged from the bathroom. “I’m late, I’ll be in my room. Door’s open,” he said, crossing the hall to his bedroom. After stuffing the laundry into his hamper he settled into his computer chair to pull up everything he’d need for work.

Crysania, only just making out the latter portion of Raistlin’s sentence, lifted the mug of tea she’d made and headed down the hall. Pausing by his door, she peeped around the frame. “I made you tea,” she said, a note of hopefulness in her voice.

Raistlin, in the process of lifting a headset, paused. Looking back to her, he smiled and set the headset back on his desk. “Thank you. I, ah-” glancing back to his desk, he quickly relocated a stack of three books and an older mug.

Noting that he was making space, Crysania stepped into the room and placed the mug in the area he’d cleared. “It’s plain, I didn’t add anything.”

“Perfect,” he replied, meeting her gaze. Beside him, a series of faces--largely comprised of people in various states of drinking things out of mugs--started to appear. Raistlin spared it a quick look. “Monday nonsense. I don’t work weekends, so we spend Monday mornings catching up. I’m not on video yet and… probably won’t stay on video, considering I look like a raccoon.”

“I have concealer, just for that, if-” Crysania began, wondering if it was an odd thing to offer.

“Concealer, mm?”

“Want me to get it?”

Eyes crinkling into a smile, Raistlin chuckled. “Why not. Let’s try it then.”

Thoroughly surprised, Crysania nodded. “One second,” she said, turning for the door. Quickly dashing down the hall and hurriedly climbing the stairs, she slid into her bathroom and snatched two of her concealer tubes. Hurrying back down the stairs, she returned to his room. “Want me to apply it?”

“Alright.” Tilting his head back, he let her test both tubes, then felt her brush away the results of one with the pad of her thumb. With a few dabs and a few more gentle touches beneath his eyes, she announced “there” under her breath. “Nobody will know the difference.”

“Truly?” he asked.

“Oh I forgot my mirror-”

“No need, I have one.” After a moment’s rummage, he found one in his desk drawer. “Oh that’s… a wonderful thing. I won’t feel so self-conscious. Thank you, for the tea and for this.”

“Of course,” she replied, stepping back so he could get his headset. He quickly followed it with a pair of glasses.

“Message me if you need anything,” she continued, heading for the door. Catching his brief wave, she smiled and stepped out into the hall. Closing the door quietly, she smiled to herself.

“What was that about?” Dalamar asked when Crysania emerged from the hallway.

“Oh he took the tea and some concealer,” she replied with a grin, raising her hand with the two sticks of concealer held against her palm.

“Did he?” Dalamar replied with a grin. “That probably came as surprising, but he’s quite good with makeup. I don’t know where or why he learned.”

“Is he? I suppose it surprised me, but-”

“But… not, at the same time, yes?” Dalamar suggested, tucking hair behind his ear and heading for the row of jackets in the foyer.

“Yes, exactly.”

“Well, I am going out. I’ll be back later. He’ll be fine, but take care of him for me?”

Blinking, Crysania realized she knew exactly what he meant. Giving a nod, she looked toward the kitchen. Their plates were in the drying rack and the counters were clean. Turning back to Dalamar, she smiled. “Have a good time.”

“I will. It’s just coffee with Jenna, but thanks.” He shrugged into a jacket and, keys jangling, headed for the door. The chimes sounded overhead when he opened it. A long band of sunlight briefly illuminated the hardwood floor, then vanished when he closed the door behind him.

Deciding to leave Raistlin to his work, yet wanting to be nearby just in case he needed something, Crysania decided to bring her texts down to the living room. After scaling the stairs and tossing her concealer on her bed, she rustled through her bag for her Deductive Logic book. Book located, she gathered her laptop, phone, a spare notebook, and made her way back down to establish herself on the sofa.

Lost in note-taking, she looked up in surprise when Raistlin appeared at the end of the hall.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle-”

“Didn’t!” She replied, moving her notebook to the coffee table. Her computer showed the time as 10:15. Remembering what Dalamar had said earlier, she considered Raistlin for a moment. “Are you hungry?”

“Oh, no,” he replied with an absent wave, phone in hand. “I need to call the pharmacy. Though… if the fridge is anything like my non-existent stock of medication, I probably need to get groceries too.”

“It’s low,” Crysania answered with a wince.

“Groceries then. I’ll have to go on my lunch because the pharmacy closes before I get out of work. Do you want to come?”

“Yes! Are you going to be alright driving though?”

“I expect so,” he replied, moving out of her line of sight. Crysania heard the refrigerator door open, then close. “I won’t be able to spend a great deal of time at the store. I rarely run over on lunches, so it won’t be an issue if I do it today, but…”

“Oh I’ll be fast. I only need a few things really.”

Faint tones alerted her to a number being dialed. A moment later she heard him give his name and request a refill on two things. After exchanging thanks, he ended the call. “Ready within an hour, or so they claim,” he said, returning to Crysania’s line of sight with a glass of water. “I’ll finish up around eleven thirty. Good?”

“Good, yes.”

Casting her a tired smile, he went back down the hall.

Unlike the period of time she’d spent before he’d appeared, the stretch of time between returning to her notes and his re-appearance at lunch seemed to drag. Yawning into her sleeve, Crysania finally gave up on her notes and shifted out from under her school supplies. Heading into the kitchen, she rummaged in the fridge for an apple. Struck by a thought, she pulled out a second one and sliced it up on a plate. When Raistlin didn’t appear, she sliced up her own apple and ate a few pieces.

Soft footsteps sounded in the hallway. A moment later Raistlin appeared, the fingers of his right hand splayed over the bridge of his nose while his glasses dangled loosely in his left.

“Apple?” She asked, causing him to look up.

“Mm. Possibly. Ready?”

“I am, yes.”

“Ahead of me,” he replied with a half smile. “I need… shoes, keys… if you want to wait in the car I won’t take long.”

“I’m fine. I’ll go with you. Can I bring these?”

“Hm?”

“Apples,” she replied, raising the plate slightly.

“Oh, yes. Ugh, phone,” he continued, more to himself. Pushing his glasses back on, he returned to his room.

Crysania snatched a sandwich bag from a drawer and, after dropping the apples into it, put the plate in the sink. Baggie in hand, she ran up the stairs to grab her purse, then dashed back down to slip into her sneakers.

Raistlin, after closing his bedroom door, joined her with a soft clink of car keys. Lifting a jacket from the rack, he drew it over his shoulders. “Alright. Phone. Keys. Money with which to buy things. Wallet that contains it. Inhaler… which I don’t have, because I’m going there to get it. Ready as I’ll be, I suppose.”

Crysania, frowning, studied him for a moment. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” he replied, trying to look more awake than he felt.

Her expression didn’t seem remotely convinced.

Sighing softly, he reached for the door.

Later, once they were on the road, Raistlin found himself rather more awake and attentive. Briefly looking toward Crysania, he smiled. It felt good to be home again. “Did you go skating?”

“Oh, yes. I sent photos to your phone,” she replied, turning to him.

“Ah. I haven’t had a chance to look. I will, though. Did everything go well?”

“It did! Dalamar skates beautifully. He told me he trained for a little while, but others were better.”

“Mm, yes. He’s said as much to me. I think he enjoys it. Unspoiled by competition.”

Crysania watched the road for a moment, considering the statement. “Unspoiled by competition?”

“Oh… just that, really. Often, if you enjoy something, you wind up becoming rather good at it and people take notice. Usually, following people noticing your skill, they’ll want you to perform, to compete, and… I can’t think of anything that siphons the joy out of things you like quite so much as being pushed into competing against others.”

“Ah, I understand. I suppose I feel that way about music. My mother-” pausing, Crysania frowned for a second. “Both of my parents hoped I’d take after her, when I was little. A musical prodigy. Lots of music lessons. Competing against people my age. I was little, still in elementary school, but I didn’t like it. I still feel… almost indescribable frustration about that.”

“I found similar frustration later,” Raistlin replied softly.

“Auditions?” Crysania asked.

“Mm. All of it eventually. Anything to do with a stage. Old news at this point.” Slowing to look for a place to park, he let out a breath. “I try to shop earlier in the day, or much later than this, but the pharmacy never fails to get me out at a time of day where there’s absolutely nowhere to park.”

“I think I see a spot up on the right,” Crysania said, tilting her chin up.

“Ah, yes. Good eye.” Pulling forward, Raistlin considered the spot for a second. Someone in the car behind them hit their horn. “Fuck’s sake,” Raistlin muttered, flicking his turn signal on. The car beeped again, then roared by when a break in traffic appeared. “Can’t let a person parallel in peace, no, couldn’t fucking allow that even for a moment-”

Crysania, despite the edge of tension in Raistlin’s voice, found herself giggling over the commentary.

“If I could clip through dimensions like tablet pens and opposite socks I would, but thus far in life I haven’t been able to, much less with my car in tow.”

Oblivious to the traffic, Crysania gave into her giggling while Raistlin parked. Once they were safely in the spot, she looked to him with a grin.

“At least one party’s amused,” he sighed, extracting his key from the ignition. “It’ll be crowded in there.”

“I’ll walk with you.”

“Mm. Help me escape the taste-testers and I’ll survive.” Leaning forward to check for traffic, he released his seatbelt to get out.

Crysania, her door against the sidewalk, opened it with little more than a cursory glance and, after adjusting the strap of her shoulder bag, slid free of the car. She heard the lock engage after closing the door. Turning to Raistlin, she stepped around a hydrant so they could head for the store’s entrance. As they were collecting baskets, a swarm of chatty elderly ladies exited the store. Crysania watched as Raistlin slipped through the sliding doors and out of sight. Considering the crowd for a moment, she quickly followed suit. Finding him in the produce section, she realized his expression had changed from evident weariness to something better described as dazed. Drawing even with him, she instinctively slipped her hand into his and twined their fingers together. “Still okay?”

Blinking, he gave a light shake of his head. “Dazed. Sorry. I think I encountered a moment of terror, the thought of getting trapped in the middle of that crowd…”

Crysania gave his hand a light squeeze. “It’s alright. I’ll keep an eye out for crowds. Pharmacy’s in the back?”

“It is,” he replied, finally looking to her.

“You remind me of a hawk.”

“A hawk?” he asked, brows furrowing slightly.

“Oh you know, with their sharp features, except they have these big eyes that always seem a little sad, somehow.”

Raistlin blinked.

“I’ll show you later. It fits. You’re even farsighted.” Giving his hand another light squeeze, Crysania started off toward the back of the store. Raistlin, fingers still twined with hers, followed.

Arriving at the pharmacy, they discovered a line. Crysania gently herded Raistlin toward a bench and released his hand. “I’ll wait in the line. When I get to the counter, join me?”

Raistlin, gazing back at her, simply nodded.

Joining the line, Crysania extracted her phone from her bag and opened her messenger. After tapping a quick response to a text from her mother, she received a notification from her chat with Raistlin.

_These photos are lovely._

Breaking into a grin, she opened the chat and swept through the photos she’d sent him from the skating trip with Dalamar. Returning to the bottom, she sent _I’m glad you like them. We might go again this weekend. Catch up on your sleep so you can come with us!_

_I’ll try._

Still smiling, she hardly noticed when she reached the front of the line, but definitely noticed when Raistlin stepped in beside her. After a brief exchange with the pharmacist, they waited while someone in the back collected a bag from a row and sorted things into a separate paper pharmacy bag. Once they finished, they brought the bag up to the pharmacist while Raistlin counted out bills. Exchange complete, he signed a screen with a pen attachment. Collecting the bag, they departed from the line. “Food then?” he asked tiredly, glancing to her.

“Only a few things. What did you need to get?” Noticing that he still looked a bit lost, she reached for his hand and folded her fingers back through his.

“Mm… I hardly remember.”

Deciding to take charge of matters, Crysania gave his hand another gentle squeeze and drew him toward the cereal aisle. “Anything here?”

“Breakfast things. Yes. Cereal and… maybe oatmeal.”

As they made their way down the shelves, he collected a box of cereal and two boxes of instant oatmeal varieties. Finding that her chosen method would likely get them both through the store, Crysania went aisle by aisle (with several getting declined), then--Raistlin’s hand still folded in her own--headed for the checkout registers. Hands clasped, they checked out, both using cards rather than cash. Crysania slid an arm through the bags while Raistlin withdrew his hand to gather his groceries bagged in paper.

After loading the groceries into the back of his car, Crysania--hand lightly on his arm--checked for traffic, then moved so he could step out on the street and get in on the driver’s side. Once his door was shut she returned to the passenger side and climbed in.

“I know you’re looking after me, but… I promise I’m not so tired as to fall down a manhole.”

“Cars aren’t manholes,” Crysania countered, clicking her buckle in. “Besides, I told Dalamar I’d look after you, even though he said you’d be fine.”

Raistlin blinked. “Dalamar-”

“I was going to anyway, even if he hadn’t suggested it.”

“Honestly,” Raistlin sighed. “I’ve gotten along just fi-”

“I wanted to,” Crysania added, fixing him in a direct look. “You’ve been away, hardly slept, and obviously you ran out of something essential or you wouldn’t have come out here to the store to get it. Oh and you looked after me when I first arrived even though you didn’t have to. I didn’t mind because I assumed if you hadn’t wanted to do any of that, you wouldn’t have. It was kind of you. I appreciated it, so… let me look after you a little too?”

Raistlin, eyes locked in her gaze, finally gave a slight nod that--despite the obvious acquiescence--seemed more like acceptance than ground given.

“Good.”

Breaking their gaze, Raistlin shifted to get his keys out of a pocket and start the car. When Crysania looked over again, after he’d pulled out, she realized he was smiling. Confused, she stared at him for a moment. “What is it?”

Giving her a quick glance, he shook his head slightly.

“I’m curious,” she continued, starting to smile herself.

“Oh it’s… people tend to react to me in one of two ways. Either they’re frightened of me, which I can’t entirely fathom, or they… well, they tell me to use the doormat and brush my teeth before I go to bed. I wasn’t sure which group you’d occupy, but I vastly prefer the latter.”

“You’re somewhat intimidating,” Crysania said, following the statement with a shrug. “Not scary though.”

“Hah. You’re not in Cornell’s computer science program for undergraduates,” Raistlin countered with a grin that reached his eyes.

“Oh?”

He returned his eyes to the road and maintained a thoughtful silence. Once they’d progressed through a light, he sighed. “I think I caused one to wet themselves once.”

“Oh that’s awful,” Crysania stated, folding her arms and resting one leg over the other.

“Isn’t it,” he stated, tone in agreement.

Indignant on behalf of the unknown student, Crysania shot him a look. “Did they really?”

“They left in a hurry.”

“How do you know it was, well, because of you?” she asked, studying his profile.

“I’d just given my introduction and course expectations. Teaching assistants essentially do more than the tenured professors in our department. I’m directly responsible for over sixty students. Course assignments get passed to me, I assist in seeing them through projects. I test their projects, then stress test them. Their grades go through me, then my summary reaches the professor’s desk.”

Crysania, though she was loath to admit it, felt the tiny hairs on her arms stand on end. “So they have to impress you, first and foremost?”

“Mm. I’m not so terrible as they think, but initial introductions rarely seem to give that impression.”

“I’d be… concerned,” Crysania admitted, looking over to him. “I think I’d fall into wanting to impress you, if I were in their position.”

“It’s… mm.”

Realizing he’d gone quiet rather abruptly, Crysania continued to observe him. “What is it?”

“Oh,” he said, giving a negating wave of his fingers on the wheel. “Insidious hierarchy. Far too easy to fall into wanting to impress your group teaching assistant, your resident instructor, your course professor. I’ve often wondered if anyone truly escapes it. What’s it like in the philosophy department?”

Recognizing his nimble attempt to change the subject, Crysania returned her gaze to the road. After a moment of considering whether or not she ought to press the subject, she decided against it. “Different, I think. Your department sounds like it has a quick pace to it. A lot of demand. Mine has demand, but I think the pace might be slower, except perhaps for Hetcher’s class.”

“Oh, Tanis?”

“Yes, him. I… keep meaning to ask how you know him, actually.”

“Mm. Through family. We’re not related though.”

“You’re rather quick to establish that distinction,” Crysania observed with a quirk of a smile.

“He’s wonderful, don’t you know?” Raistlin asked, putting a measure of sarcastic emphasis on wonderful. “Everyone likes him. Brilliant teacher. Attractive! Magnetic personality.”

Crysania blinked. “You’re not-”

“Jealous? No. Christ, no. He’s flaky, can’t sort out his priorities to save his life.”

“Lost me, I suppose.”

“It hardly matters. I think he does a fair job of keeping it out of the classroom. If anything matters, it’s that, so my opinions are of little consequence.”

“He must’ve done something for you to have such opinions in the first place though,” Crysania continued, even though he’d just turned onto their street.

“Oh yes. Ever met the sort that specifically seek you out for advice, don’t take it, and then come whine at you about how it’s all gone to hell even though they didn’t heed your advice?”

Crysania, noticing a For Sale picket sign in the direct opposite neighbor’s lawn, considered Raistlin’s question as he backed into the garage. “I, well, maybe? I don’t have a lot of people coming to me for advice. I mean, sometimes they do, but I don’t always hear about the results one way or the other. If I ask for advice personally, I usually heed it if I think it’s sound. I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t plan on considering it.”

“Tanis lacks that kind of sense,” Raistlin muttered, shifting the car into park. “Anyway. Hardly matters. He keeps it out of the classroom and I suppose that’s the best any of the rest of us can hope for.”

Crysania unbuckled and got out just as Raistlin did the same on his side. Once they’d collected the groceries from the back, she followed him to the door. “For some reason, whenever we discuss things, I wind up far more curious about the subject than I was before we started the conversation. I feel like I really don’t know much about the computer science department, or Tanis, or… well, or even where you go occasionally, but I know that’s something you can’t discuss.”

Raistlin, unlocking the door, sighed as he used a knee to nudge it inward. “I’ll try and elaborate on the computer science department after I’ve slept. I’m worried I might be rambling at this point. Tanis hardly bears thinking about. Where I go doesn’t matter.” Adjusting his bags, he stepped up into the foyer.

Crysania, shaking her head, followed suit.

Later, rather later in the afternoon than he’d intended, Dalamar coasted into the garage. Crysania’s bike was gone. Bringing his own bike to a stop, he shifted off and dropped the kickstand. Letting himself in, he draped his helmet on one of the coat pegs and dropped to the bench to untie his shoes. Rising, he unzipped his jacket and returned it to the rack before heading down the hall. Giving a light rap of knuckles to Raistlin’s door, he leaned his shoulder to the frame.

“Come in.”

Relieved, he turned the knob and stepped into the room. “Crysania’s gone to class.”

“Mm. Yes. She’ll be back around five.”

“Did you go out?” Dalamar asked, noticing a dish with pineapple pieces on Raistlin’s desk.

“Briefly. Pharmacy. I ran out of… everything. Always seems to happen that way.”

“Free from meetings?” Dalamar continued, approaching Raistlin’s chair.

“Yes,” he replied, bringing his elbow up to stifle a yawn.

Dalamar considered Raistlin’s screens for a moment.

“Was there something you wanted to ask me?” Raistlin inquired, tilting his head to look up at Dalamar.

Clenching his teeth, Dalamar glanced away.

“Mm, thought so,” Raistlin continued, returning his gaze to his screens.

“Did he hurt you?” Dalamar ground out, looking back to Raistlin.

Raistlin, for his part, let out a breath and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his desk.

“You know how I feel about it,” Dalamar said quietly.

“I do.”

“Caramon-”

Raistlin sat back to regard Dalamar. “Caramon isn’t going to find out. I’m sure you know exactly where that would get him. I’m still… you shouldn’t know as much as you do. There isn’t anything to be done about it. I walked into it willingly. I told you that. I shouldn’t have told you that, but-”

“Better than you trying to handle it entirely on your own.”

“For what good any of it does,” Raistlin muttered, pushing his chair back from his desk.

Recognizing the gesture, Dalamar held out a hand. “Something visible again?”

Slipping a hand into Dalamar’s, Raistlin got to his feet and walked over to the bed. Sitting on the side, he looked up at Dalamar again.

“Light, please,” Dalamar said. With a faint chime of acknowledgement from elsewhere in the house, the bedside lamp flicked on.

“It’s just bruising,” Raistlin sighed, lifting his shirt.

Dalamar, studying the marks, slowly sank to his knees. “No. Not like this. He marks you up like this because he thinks he owns you like-”

“Well he fucking does at this point wouldn’t you-”

“No I would not,” Dalamar interjected. “He doesn’t own you like some pet.”

“As long as he thinks he does…”

“What, so you graduate? Right. You graduate. He keeps doing this. Finds some new pet. Right? Where does it stop?”

“Fuck’s sake Dalamar,” Raistlin muttered, tugging his shirt back down.

“Fuck sake yes, you go away and he uses your talents and their talents and does this to you and you keep going because if you don’t, what, he fails you out of the program because he can and would do it, you keep saying he will but-”

“As awful as it seems-”

“As it _is_ , don’t you think this is awful? What if this started with me? What would you say then, if I came home, bruised like this, someone controlling-”

“Don’t fuck your professors, you’ll be fine,” Raistlin muttered, looking away.

“That’s not the point. He shouldn’t be, you keep saying this, fucking, he shouldn’t be fucking you is the point in this,” Dalamar stated, shifting back to his feet.

“I don’t want to talk about this,” Raistlin said, shifting forward.

“What else then, you come home like this-”

“Ugh,” Raistlin exhaled, struggling to get to his feet.

Gently snatching his wrists, Dalamar stopped Raistlin’s progress.

Caught, Raistlin stiffened and looked up at him. Using Dalamar’s grasp on him, he shifted to his feet and leaned close. “I got myself into this mess. It’s not your responsibility. Besides,” he breathed, cheek almost touching Dalamar’s. “What does it say about me, that I enjoy some of it?”

Dalamar, feeling the shivering tension in Raistlin’s form, slowly let out a breath. Loosening his hold on Raistlin’s wrists, he gently wrapped his arms around him. “I would say bodies are not the same as minds,” he whispered, resting his cheek to Raistlin’s shoulder.

Raistlin, fraught with tension, finally wrapped his arms around Dalamar’s back and buried his face into his neck. “You would think,” he breathed, eyes burning, “that someone naturally good at solving puzzles and fixing problems might just be able to extricate themselves from something as utterly stupid as this.”

“We wouldn’t have this conversation every few weeks if it were simple,” Dalamar replied, reaching up to bring Raistlin closer. “You’re exhausted. I’ll make something to eat. After work, try to have some, then go to bed? What is it you do. Benadryl? Sleep through the night.”

“Everyone’s getting so close. They’re going to find out. Laurana’s starting to notice things. Crysania…”

“Nothing to do about that right now. Besides, I like Crysania. She’s kind.”

“She’s smart-”

“Well what did you want, a stupid housemate?”

Raistlin, startled, suddenly started laughing. “No, god no, but she’s… kind, like you said. Observant. How do I keep this up with you dropping hints over dinner?”

Dalamar gave a sigh, then allowed Raistlin to ease out of their embrace. “How did you know she thought we were a couple?”

Raistlin gave a haphazard wave. “A guess. We’re close.”

“I don’t occupy your bed,” Dalamar continued.

“Too much complication occupies my bed. I’d be doing Jenna a disservice by trying to entertain anything further.”

“If you eradicate the current problem-”

A soft beeping noise came from Raistlin’s speakers. “Ugh,” Raistlin muttered, returning to his desk. Lifting his headset, he switched the mute button and clicked something on his screen. “I’m here, sorry. Yes, drop that in my folder. Thanks.” Switching the mute back on, he sighed and folded his face into his arms on the desk. “Can we continue this conversation later?”

“Yes. What can I make that you’ll eat?”

“That’s complicated too.”

“Chicken and rice?”

After a moment of quiet, Raistlin slowly straightened up. “All right. I’ll… I’ll make an effort. Thank you.”

“Of course. I’ll make extra, Crysania likes everything. I’ve enjoyed cooking with her. She takes delight in making things.”

“Mm yes, I noticed that. She liked my stir-fry.”

“Only tasteless fools wouldn’t,” Dalamar replied with a grin. “Come talk to me after she goes upstairs?”

“I’d rather be unconscious by then,” Raistlin said, tilting his head to observe Dalamar wearily.

“Fine, tomorrow. She has class. I’ll stay in.”

“Better.”

Knowing that reply for the strongest affirmative he was likely to get, Dalamar made his way over to the door. “I won’t bring up anything upsetting over dinner, so don’t vanish and leave your food behind alright?”

“My one escape route, mercilessly curtailed by do-good friendship-”

“Mmhmm,” Dalamar followed, narrowing his eyes. “Did you eat in Ohio? At all?”

“I don’t want to think about it,” Raistlin muttered, lifting his headset and pulling his chair closer to his screens. Switching the mute, he leaned in. “Yes I’m looking at it right now. I’ve _been_ looking at it, let me live.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to extend heartfelt thanks to everyone who's commented thus far on this little alternate-universe journey. It means the world to me; you guys are amazing. I'm also (absolutely utterly astounded) that this piece has inspired artwork, please go check out TricksterKat209's gorgeous piece of Crysania located [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13180776). Further still, I'm involved in a Dragonlance-themed Discord server called _Dragonlance Hell_. If you're similarly into Dragonlance, we'd love to have you come join! Directions for doing so can be found [here](http://owlspace.tumblr.com/post/168858715342/dragonlance-discord) (it's completely free)! Come pop in and say hi!


	14. A brief reunion of 'friends', secrets

_Hi Daddy, hi Mom,_

_I’m sorry I haven’t written for a few weeks! I’ve been so caught up with my classes and homework. It’s hard to believe Halloween is less than two weeks away! I’d almost forgotten, at least until decorations started appearing around campus. Dalamar asked me what I planned to dress up as and I haven’t decided yet. Of course he’s already decided; he’s going to dress as Bender from_ The Breakfast Club _. I think it’s a great idea, but I’m not sure if anyone’s going to recognize him. Bender has brown hair, while Dalamar’s hair is very long and nearly black._

_I don’t know if Raistlin has plans for Halloween yet; I’ve been discovering that questions almost always end up in run-arounds with him. I’ll ask him one thing and before I know it we’re talking about how the Taj Mahal was defaced by the British during the Indian Rebellion (and later refurbished by a British viceroy). He’d make an interesting Thanksgiving dinner guest. I bet everyone would wander away to nap off their turkey stupor wondering ‘what just happened?’_

_Everyone continues to be very kind. I’m happy to say we get along as well as we do. I’m sure you’ll remember that my last roommates were very outgoing and I ended up getting left behind. They didn’t scorn me, at least openly, but I could sense their dislike. Raistlin and Dalamar are mellow, for the most part, but sometimes there’s a strange tension, some underlying subject they’re wrestling with. I don’t know what it is, but I’m curious. I won’t pry too hard, though. It’s not really my business. If it concerned me, I think they’d explain things, so it’s probably better to leave the subject (whatever it is) alone._

_In other news, I might’ve made a friend in my Feminism in Philosophy class-_

Crysania, distracted by a sudden clatter, lifted her hands from her laptop’s keys. The racket, now joined by delighted laughter, continued. Growing curious, she got to her feet and headed for the landing. 

Two people, unfamiliar to Crysania, though clearly familiar to Raistlin as they were exchanging hugs, occupied the space between the entryway and kitchen. Two golden retrievers danced around everyone’s legs, canine excitement barely contained. 

“Ah! You must be the new housemate!” The tallest of the three waved up at her. 

Charmed by his friendly demeanor, Crysania left the rail and descended the stairs. Raistlin, having crouched to greet the dogs, looked up and tilted his head toward their company. “This giant is my brother. His lovely companion is Tika.” 

Allowing the dogs to excitedly topple him, he gestured in her direction. “This is Crysania. Yes, she’s my housemate, though to say she’s a new one implies Dalamar and I had an old one.” 

“You had us,” Tika observed, folding her arms tilting her head. 

“We’re not old,” Caramon laughed, stepping over one of Raistlin’s ankles to extend a hand to Crysania. 

“You’re Raistlin’s twin!” Crysania observed, excited at finally having the opportunity to meet him. 

Caramon replied without missing a beat. “Fraternal twins, yes! Raistlin told you? People can’t usually see it, on first meeting us together.” 

“He told me. I haven’t had a great deal of opportunity to, well, meet twins.”

Caramon, grinning in delight, gestured that she should wait a moment. Gently shooing the dogs, he held out a hand to Raistlin and pulled him to his feet. 

“Oh it won’t work now. She won’t see the similarities. I’m covered in dog hair.” 

“Nonsense,” Caramon retorted, followed by Tika’s laughter. “Though I’m sure it would help if you weren’t this, what is this?” he asked, reaching out to dust at Raistlin’s here. “Blond?”

“It’s temporary,” Raistlin sighed, then straightened his shoulders. 

Crysania, shortly joined by Tika, studied the two for a moment. At first glance, it was true, the relation was easy to miss. On closer observation, she noticed they almost had the same shade of blue eyes, followed by similar eyebrows, a similar nose. Caramon stood a few inches taller, with broader shoulders, muscle tone visible beneath the sleeves of his shirt. His skin carried a tan, suggestive of regular outdoor activities. “I see it. Your eyes, especially your noses.” 

“I inherited your nose, dear brother,” Raistlin muttered, glancing up at Caramon before leaving his side. “Would you like something to drink, Tika? Crysania? We have tea, water..” 

“Just water,” Tika answered contentedly, following after him.

“What about me?” Caramon inquired, turning to look after them. 

“I hardly need to tell you where the fridge is, Caramon, it hasn’t moved since you lived here.” 

Crysania, caught by surprise, couldn’t help the short laugh that escaped her lips. Caramon, indignant, rested his palms to his hips. “And where’s Dalamar? It’s Saturday, don’t tell me he’s working a morning shift on the weekend.” 

“Asleep, I expect. Wake him however you like,” Raistlin replied from the kitchen counter. Crysania noticed he was pouring five glasses of water. 

Smiling to herself, she barely jumped when a cold nose sniffed its way into her palm. Content to ruffle her fingers through silky fur, she sought a sweet spot and, after a moment of hunting, was rewarded by her furry companion tilting his head and the soft tapping of a back foot against the floor. 

“That’s Tony,” Caramon said fondly. “He’s a lovebug. The other one is Marie. She runs the show. Queen Marie.” Snapping his fingers, he grinned. “I know what we’ll do. I’ll set them on Dalamar. Come on.” 

Marie, summoned by the snap of Caramon’s fingers, abandoned Raistlin and Tika. Grinning turned mischevious, Caramon set off down the hallway with Crysania following behind him. The dogs, regaining their former excitement, clicked over the hardwood and swished their tails against the walls. 

Crouching before Dalamar’s door, Caramon whispered to the dogs to further excite them. Once they were practically spinning in circles, he opened Dalamar’s door. As a pair, the two rushed into the darkened bedroom and casually jumped into the bed.

A low groan, lacking a single shred of surprise, rose from a lump in the blankets. Caramon, chuckling, pulled the door shut and straightened up. “That’ll do it. He’ll be up shortly.” Dusting his hands, he turned and headed back to the kitchen. 

Crysania, hearing soft ‘whuffs’ of excitement from the dogs on the other side of the door, accompanied by the occasional gruff curse word, smiled and shook her head before following Caramon. Arriving in the kitchen, she claimed one of the water glasses and turned to Caramon. “Raistlin told me you lived here before, you and Tika.” 

“We did! He finalized the sale on this place about a month before the roomshare Tika and I occupied wrapped up. We lived here for a year and a few months.”

“It wasn’t entirely a coincidence,” Tika explained, leaning her shoulder closer to Crysania’s. Meeting Tika’s green-eyed gaze, Crysania understood.

“He said he needed help fixing some of it up,” Caramon continued “-so I was happy to help. Tika and I both were. Those stairs, you wouldn’t believe the state they were in. Tika and I refurbished the bedroom and bathroom upstairs, the bedroom you’re in now. Do you like it?”

“I love it,” Crysania answered with a nod. “It’s beautiful. I didn’t know what to expect, moving up here. I’m from Long Island, so my parents and I looked at a couple other places before arriving here. We were getting pretty nervous until arriving on Raistlin’s doorstep.” 

“It’s good, here. A little too quiet-”

“It’s not,” Raistlin groused, claiming one of the chairs at the table. 

“Pipes might freeze in the winter again, though.” 

“God I hope not,” Raistlin muttered, resting his palms over his face for a moment. “I broke the space heater.” 

“Broke it?” Caramon inquired, blinking. “Doing what?” 

“Yardwork.” 

“What? How?” 

Tika, trying to contain her laughter, rested a palm to Caramon’s arm. “Shhh. He’s yanking your chain, it probably died on its own.” 

“It’s the fourth one, I can’t believe they’re all just dying when they’re exposed to my brother.” 

“You’d be surprised,” Raistlin sighed before glancing up at clicking toenails. Both dogs returned to the company in the kitchen, followed by Dalamar, hair mussed but dressed. 

“You,” he said, pointing in Caramon’s direction. “Horrible bastard.” 

“Perfectly legitimate, actually,” Raistlin followed.

Finger still aloft, Dalamar glanced toward Raistlin. “I don’t care if he’s legitimate unless you mean legitimately a bastard.” 

Raistlin shrugged and raised his glass of water. 

Caramon, unperturbed, reached out to grasp Dalamar’s wrist and pulled him into a hug. “I’ve missed you! Listen, we came by for a reason.” 

“Thank god, I wondered when we might get to the point of this,” Raistlin said from the table. 

“Oh don’t fuss so, you’re _happy_ to see us,” Tika chided. 

“You, maybe. The dogs, certainly. I’m not sure why you brought my oaf of a brother along. Surely anything you hoped to accomplish might’ve been done-” 

“Ugh, stop,” Tika replied, watching as a small wrestling match blossomed between Caramon and Dalamar. “ _Boys_.”

As one, Caramon and Dalamar stopped and stepped a pace apart. 

“That’s better,” Tika continued. “We came by to ask about Thanksgiving. Do you want to have it here, or at our place?” 

“Oh, here, you’re welcome to commandeer my kitchen whenever you wish Tika.”

Breaking into a beatific grin, Tika glanced around the room. “It’s settled then, we’ll descend early in the morning on Thanksgiving.” 

“Do you still have your keys?” Raistlin asked, rising from his seat at the table. 

“I do. I don’t know about my oaf of a boyfriend here, but I suppose we only need one to get in.”

“I’ve got mine, Tika. It’s on my second keyring, you know that.” Caramon grumbled, seemingly touched by the implication that he might’ve misplaced something. 

“How is it,” Dalamar inquired from where he’d started making coffee, “that Raistlin verbally eviscerates you from sunup until sundown but Tika gives the slightest criticism and you turn into a puddle with eyes?” 

Caramon, fully recovered from the slight about the key, shrugged amiably and glanced between Tika and Raistlin. “Tika carries out her threats.” 

Tika, thoroughly amused, tilted her head back in laughter. Her curly red hair tumbled back around her shoulders, then forward when she fixed Caramon in her gaze. “As it should be, wouldn’t you say?” 

Although the atmosphere in the kitchen remained light, what with Caramon grinning and mirth shining in Tika’s eyes, Crysania noticed Raistlin wasn’t laughing, that he hadn’t responded at all. 

A knock sounded at the front door. Crysania, quietly observing Raistlin, noticed it broke the moment. Confusion briefly crossed his face and, as everyone turned to him, he raised his palms in similar confusion before leaving to get the door. After greeting someone, he reappeared with Mr. Hecher a step behind him. 

Crysania, quite suddenly, realized two very significant things. Attractive Mr. Tanis Hecher was somehow standing in the same kitchen as her, outside of class, and she was wearing round panda pajamas that, for all their cuteness, hadn’t seemed out of place around Caramon and Tika (it was still fairly early in the morning, after all) but Mr. Hecher was fully dressed and might’ve just left a class for all she knew. 

Mortified, she stepped behind Caramon just as everyone started exchanging greetings. 

“Almost a proper friend-reunion, wouldn’t you say?” Mr. Hecher asked. 

Crysania lost her hiding spot behind Caramon as he stepped forward to wrap Mr. Hecher in a hug. When they parted, Tika stepped in to exchange a hug as well. 

“And who’s this?” Mr. Hecher asked, looking over Tika’s shoulder at Crysania. 

Caught, Crysania closed her eyes for a moment, then turned to face him. “Hello, Mr. Hecher. I didn’t expect to see you so early, or-” 

“Or on a weekend! Ms. Tarinius, it’s lovely to see you. Do you live here, then, with Raistlin?” 

Feeling heat creeping up her cheeks, Crysania straightened her arms at her sides. “Yes! It’s good to see you too, Mr. Hecher.” 

Cute pandas be damned, she wasn’t going to blush in front of her Deductive Logic instructor. 

“Tanis, please. It seems like you know almost my entire friend base. Call me Tanis.” 

Still trying not to blush, Crysania nodded. “I’ll try, Mr. ..Tanis.” 

“Excellent,” Tanis replied, giving her a warm smile before glancing toward Raistlin. “I know it’s unusual for me to drop by, but something’s been on my mind. I didn’t anticipate the company, however, so I’d hate to interrupt-” 

“Too late for that,” Raistlin replied, causing a hush to fall over the room. 

“Quite,” Tanis replied, wilting very slightly in the former’s gaze. “I came to ask about Laur-”

Raistlin, face quickly taking on a sharpness Crysania hadn’t seen since the argument over dinner with Dalamar, cut Tanis off with a gesture. “Later. We’ll discuss this later.” 

Visibly confused, Tanis glanced to Caramon and then Tika before returning his gaze to Raistlin. “I didn’t realize-”

“No, no you don’t realize at all, please. Go sit in the den for a moment.” 

“Aw Raist, I haven’t seen Tanis since the semester kicked off. Why-” 

Tika, glancing between Caramon and Raistlin, looped an arm through Caramon’s elbow. “Come on then, Caramon. Let’s leave them to sort out whatever this is, shall we? We’ve confirmed Thanksgiving, that’s really all we came by to do. Let’s be on our way.” 

“I’ll be.. over here in the den,” Tanis said from the open doorframe, clearly still confused. 

Tika, left arm still linked in Caramon’s, turned to Crysania. “It was lovely to meet you, Crysania. I’m looking forward to Thanksgiving. We’ll have a lovely time.” Gently tugging at Caramon, encouraging him to walk with her, she nodded to Raistlin. “Have a good day, don’t kill Tanis. I rather like his head attached to his body.” 

“Me too. Don’t fight, okay?” Caramon said, then glanced around. “Tony, Marie! Time to go!” 

In a swarm of clicking toenails and wagging tails, Tika and Caramon departed. 

Crysania, realizing this was her moment, slipped out of the kitchen and dashed up the stairs to change her clothes. 

After changing, she opened her door and found Dalamar on the landing, standing back from the railing. 

“Dal-?” she began, only for him to raise a finger to his lips. Shifting away from the wall, he stepped close. “Do you want to overhear their conversation?” 

Blinking, Crysania glanced down the stairs, then back to Dalamar. “We shouldn’t-”

“One of those two is in over his head.”

Crysania raised her eyes to Dalamar’s and proceeded to search his gaze. No sign of mischief danced there, only quiet worry. He’d only ever shown worry over it, whatever _it_ was. 

Inwardly wrestling her guilt, Crysania nodded. 

“Your room.” 

Catching on, Crysania reached back and opened her door. Together, the two entered. Dalamar closed the door quietly, then sighed. “Your room connects to a-” he paused, gestured vaguely. “Hole. There is a hole there. It’s above the den.” 

Crysania blinked, then looked to where he was pointing. 

With a sigh, Dalamar stepped around her and carefully lifted the standing mirror. After moving it, he crouched and felt along the painted wall paneling, then gave a soft grunt. With a faint grating noise, an angled door opened in the wall. 

“Oh,” Crysania breathed. “Eaves.” 

Dalamar sat back on his heels and looked over his shoulder at her. “This is eaves?” 

“Yes. They’re the reason eavesdropping is called that.” 

Dalamar broke into a smile. “I did not know that, before today. Thank you. Come over here, quietly.” 

Nodding, Crysania approached the low doorway and, once Dalamar had crawled inside, followed as quietly as possible. Once they were both inside, Dalamar tugged a beaded chain and a naked bulb flickered to life. It was cooler within the eaves, almost chill, but the small space was tidy, for all that it remained unfinished. Dalamar approached a shiny metal vent and, once sitting beside it such that he could lean an ear against it, crooked a finger for Crysania to do the same. 

Biting her lip, Crysania approached the vent and shifted to sit beside it. To her surprise, once she pressed her ear against it, she could make out conversation.

“I just don’t understand why she won’t tell me what’s going on. I asked Caramon about it, you know. Is that why you didn’t want to discuss it in front of him?” 

“Caramon doesn’t know, Tanis.”

“He knows you go away several times a year. He worries about you.” 

“Did it ever cross your mind, Tanis, that if you truly respected your.. ill-advised relationship with Laurana, that you’d let her conduct her affairs as she chooses?” 

“Affairs?” Tanis asked, voice rising. 

“Her life, Tanis. Not affairs. You’re reading too far into it.” 

“Is she in danger, Raistlin?” 

A moment of silence passed. Crysania frowned. 

“She is, isn’t she. Whatever you’re doing, it’s dangerous,” Tanis pressed. 

“You’re jumping to conclusions, Tanis. It’s far more dangerous for me than Laurana. The only thing capable of making it more dangerous for her is you prying away, trying to figure out what’s going on. The more you learn, the more dangerous her life will become. It’s better that you don’t know.” 

“I don’t see how-”

“No, you don’t. Tanis.”

“So you’re not going to tell me anything? I was right. You’re involved, somehow. She won’t tell me. I just have to live with this, with these secrets? She’s not involved with you somehow, is she?” 

Crysania heard Raistlin’s soft laughter. “Oh Tanis, I thought you’d be used to secrets, after dating my sister for as long as you did. Laurana’s not romantically involved with anyone save.. you, as far as I can tell. In truth, I can’t believe you’d come here to ask me about this. It’s my sister you stepped out on.” 

“Raistlin-” 

“Rather two-faced even for you, wouldn’t you say? Asking the brother of the woman you cheated on about whether or not the new girlfriend is having an affair? Quite thick, I’d say-”

“I’m _concerned_ , Raistlin. I don’t know how I always end up with people incapable of telling me the truth, but if she’s truly in danger, I think you owe it to me-” 

“You’re mistaken, Tanis.” A brief pause, then Raistlin’s voice seemed slightly closer, as though he’d moved across the room. “I don’t owe you anything. The only reason I tolerate you is because you’re somehow the best of friends with all that remains of my family. It hardly grants you the right to come to my house demanding answers.” 

“That’s it, then? I come to you out of concern, out of worry, and you won’t let me know what’s going on because you think I’m insufferable?” 

“You’re not insufferable. _Sturm’s_ insufferable. You’re indecisive. You stepped out on my sister. You’re dating a student. If you respected Laurana’s privacy, you wouldn’t be here right now. It makes me wonder, Tanis. Are people actually people to you, or do they lose their agency when you start dating them?” 

Crysania winced. 

“Such vitriol, Raistlin. I knew you disliked me, even while your sister and I were together, but I won’t stay here for this. I didn’t anticipate you’d be so unhelpful, or I wouldn’t have stopped by. Is this… is this all because of what happened between Kit and I?” 

“I’m sure you’d like to think so, but she can take care of herself. No. I saw you with Naomi.” 

Crysania, eyes widening, clenched her fingers in her lap. 

“I don’t know what you’re-”

“Is _kissing_ meaningless to you, Tanis?” 

A moment of silence dragged out. Finally, Tanis spoke up. “Have you told Laurana?”

“I haven’t. I rarely tell anyone anything. I’m sure your behavior will lay it bare for Laurana, though I’d suggest you figure out how to exact some decisiveness in your life before that happens. You can start by getting out of my house.”

“Yes. I expect you’re right,” Tanis replied, weariness entering his voice. “I’d hoped we could be more amicable than this, considering-”

“Out of my house,” Raistlin repeated, voice cutting. 

Crysania made out footsteps. A moment later the front door opened, then closed. Beside her, Dalamar tapped her wrist, then pointed toward the door they’d entered through. Crysania, remaining as quiet as before, shifted to crawl out of the eaves. Behind her, Dalamar pulled the chain on the light, then crawled out and carefully closed the door. Once it was secure, he returned her mirror to its former location and, frowning, looked out the window. “I’d hoped to learn more.” 

“I feel like.. maybe we shouldn’t have listened,” Crysania said, folding her arms and dropping her gaze to her feet. 

“I didn’t learn anything I don’t already know, except-”

Two sharp taps sounded beneath their feet. 

“Ughhh,” Dalamar exclaimed, heading for the door. Crysania followed, then trailed after him down the stairs. 

Raistlin, a broom in hand, used the handle to gesture at each of them. “I know you were in the eaves. Plaster dust fell from the ceiling while I was talking with Tanis. Am I.. incapable, thoroughly incapable, of having a private conversation in my own home? Dalamar?”

Dalamar, lips thinning to a line, stared back for a moment. Then, with a sigh, he started to turn away. “I’m not arguing with you today. I won’t drop eaves again, if this is how you’ll always be about it.” 

Raistlin blinked. 

Crysania glanced to Dalamar, then whispered “eavesdrop.”

“I’d.. appreciate,” Raistlin began, looking between them, “if everything you’ve just heard remains a secret. Tanis is free to make whatever misguided choices he feels he must. For all that I might point out his flaws, I’ve my own as well. I don’t need him skulking about my life. I don’t need anyone skulking about my life, at present. His problems, while significant in some circles, pale in comparison.” 

Crysania, feeling her chest clench up, twisted her fingers together. “I’m sorry. I was worried, like Dalamar. Trying to overhear you was invasive. I won’t do it again.”

“Ugh,” Dalamar huffed. “Fine, she can be sorry. I am not sorry, and now I want breakfast.”

Crysania felt the air stir as Dalamar left for the kitchen. Eyes locked with Raistlin’s, she watched the edge leave his features. After a moment, he switched the broom to his left hand and reached out to grasp her laced fingers, giving them a gentle squeeze. “This isn’t a secret I keep for the sake of being deceitful. By keeping it, I’m securing the safety of others and myself. If more people learn of it, the risk is greater. The issue is.. larger than Tanis. I’m not the architect of his present misery.”

Crysania, her eyes locked with Raistlin’s, saw no evidence of a lie.

Later, upon returning to her room with a sandwich for lunch, Crysania spotted the email she’d started typing her parents. Pausing to consider it, she set her plate on the desk and took a seat. 

_In other news, I might’ve made a friend in my Feminism in Philosophy class. Their name is Tas. I haven’t had a friend that uses gender-neutral pronouns before, so I’m trying very hard to remember and always respect it._

_Although it’s difficult to express this through writing, I made a mistake earlier today. I left this email I was writing to you in order to go meet Raistlin’s brother Caramon and Caramon’s girlfriend Tika. They brought their dogs, two golden retrievers named Tony and Marie. While they were here, the professor I wrote about previously, Tanis Hecher, came by. Apparently, everyone knows everyone. He wanted to talk to Raistlin about something. After Caramon and Tika left, Dalamar and I eavesdropped on Raistlin and Mr. Hecher. I wish I hadn’t done it. I didn’t want to, initially, but curiosity got the better of me. I learned things about Mr. Hecher that I had no business knowing, all of them apparently true because Mr. Hecher broached no denial._

_Raistlin knew we’d overheard. He wasn’t angry, or he didn’t turn any sort of anger on us, but I could tell he was upset. I apologized and told him I wouldn’t do such a thing again._

_It feels strange to be as old as I am, getting caught at something I knew I shouldn’t do back in elementary school. I wonder if this is what happens when people move away from home? Did you or dad start acting differently when you went away for college? I feel almost exactly the same as I did when I was six years old and got caught eavesdropping on the teacher’s lounge. Even though Raistlin, Dalamar and I are all nearly the same age, I feel I’ve made a fool of myself. I don’t intend to make the same mistake again._

_In lighter news, since I’ve been thinking about the Taj Mahal and India, I think I’ll make myself a tiger costume for Halloween. If it turns out nicely, I’ll text you both a picture._

_Love you,_

_Crysania._

_xoxo_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I'm sorry I disappeared for so long! A lot of things have changed since I uploaded the last chapter of this fic. I've moved, my job duties have changed (like five times lmao), but I (hesitantly) think I might be back! I don't know how regular updates will be, but I anticipate 'more frequently than a few times a year' going forward. :) 
> 
> Oh and special thanks go out to the AO3 posting script, which can be found [here](http://terramien.tumblr.com/post/180416042587/wait-wait-wait-what-is-this-intriguing-publish). I'm trying it out on this chapter. If it works, I can easily say a good 45 minutes of post-publish-formatting has been lifted from my life.


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